Tired ... stupid.
Any time that you can walk away from something like that, it's not stupid.
You're kind.
Truthful. Mostly, anyway. Probably I was a little kind, but not that much, and Paula and Central Four were the only ones who seemed to care about preserving one Jonat Charls deVrai. When will you be able to get out of there?
Not for another week. It's all the internal damage. The slug that hit the arm took mostly muscle.
I didn't realize...
Jonat... you got me out of there and to treatment. Most safos wouldn't have cared so much.
I'm sure that most would have.
There were two laughs through the Central Four link. Paula's was slightly bitter.
Maybe they don't know ... I'm still learning.
Most people do not wish to know what is unpleasant or contrary to their self-image or their worldview. That was Central Four. I was beginning to sense the difference. I suppose I had from the beginning, because I'd noted the changes in Paula's speech patterns, but I hadn't figured out what they had meant.
That's always been true, I pointed out. It's a handicap society has always faced.
That is so obvious that everyone dismisses it for its self-evident truth, Central Four pointed out. If it is obvious, it cannot be meaningful.
For some reason, those words struck home. "If it is obvious, it cannot be meaningful." What if I did the direct and obvious? I suppressed a laugh. A great idea, but how practical was it?
Paula is tiring, Central Four noted.
Good night, Paula.
Good night, Jonat.
Good night, Central Four.
Good night, Jonat.
I turned to the system and entered the name Paula Athene in the directory search function. The entry that appeared didn't surprise me, not exactly.
Athene, Paula. Administrative/technical consultant, Denv Safety Office. Residence information restricted by request. Personal information restricted by request.
So Paula already had an identity, and probably a birth date that matched her apparent chronological age. I sat for a long time in the darkness.
Chapter 66
Bravo two ... three-one here ... delta caught in cross fire ... quicksand stuff and a deep paddies or something... couple of...
The implant transmission vanished in a red flare—another officer gone. Without air support, delta units were going to get shredded worse.
Charlie one ... Charlie one, sweeping south, vee on me. Even before I finished with the orders, I was leading the way, scuttling to the southeast. Overhead, not all that far overhead, more slugs were shredding the taller soyl plants. Implant position showed heavy fire from a knoll two hundred meters southeast, from some sort of revetment good enough to stop lasers and hand weapons.
More telltales flicked red and gone.
At eighty meters from the revetment, with slugs coming in at less than a meter above my head, mowing down the tops of the soyl plants, and even the shorter and bushier caak, I called a halt. Hold. Launchers centered.
Centered.
Fire!
After the first stunner dropped into the revetment, someone tried to swing the old machine gun. They didn't get far. Illegals vaulted over the revetment and began to run. At that range, even in the fields on the edge of the rain forest, the HVs were effective. One hundred percent effective.
When I climbed over the edge of the makeshift revetment—logs, rocks, and mud—my eyes took in the bodies from the more than dozen locals who had been firing at us.
One was a blonde girl less than ten years old.
It was Charis.
I bolted upright in the wide and empty bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily.
It was five o'clock, and that was how Saturday morning started.
Most of the rest of the weekend was devoted to Charis and Alan. The reasons were simple. I didn't have that much consulting work. In fact, I effectively had almost none. I also would be working nights, so to speak, later in the week, and, while more than a few ideas for dealing with the PST crew were swirling through my thoughts, there wasn't much else I could do until I came up with a true plan of action—except learn what I could about Deng and Alistar.
There was probably a lot to know about Deng. A man didn't control something like ISS without depth. But because it was ISS, and because the kind of man who controlled such an enterprise had to be by nature or discipline most private, there was little else about him available, and certainly nothing to add to what Central Four had provided.
There was more about Alistar—devoted racquetball player, bon vivant, and superficially humorous, but vindictive to the core. He had no obvious vices, no mistresses, no substance abuses. His only addiction was to power, whether on the racquetball court or in the internal courts of NEN.
While I'd done my best with Charis and Alan, I had to say that I was glad to pack them back to the Academy on Monday, January second.
I'd barely gotten back to the Southhills house when Bruce Fuller linked.
"Jonat. Good job on the Reilin project. I've got another. Straight boilerplate, but we're swamped with all the year-end stuff piling in."
I offered a laugh. "Send it over."
"It's on its way. Talk to you later."
Bruce broke the link and was gone. He was pleasant, but never lingered long over small talk. That was fine with me. I had more than enough on my mind, and I could use another project or two.
I forced myself to make a round of links, hitting Methroy, Reya Decostas, and several other past clients I hadn't heard from in a time, ostensibly to tell them all, except Reya, who knew, that contrary to published reports their favorite prodplacement consultant was alive and well. I saved Miguel Elisar for last.
He was actually in his office—or simmied so that he looked to be there.
"Dr. deVrai, what can I do for you? I was assured that the payment was sent—"
"I received it in good time," I replied in an open and friendly manner.
"Then..." He looked puzzled.
"I was just curious. As you may have heard, I was injured and under medical treatment for some time. I received your message about the legal action with Vorhees being settled, but I just wondered if you were at liberty to reveal what happened, since I wasn't in any shape to hear about it when it did."
"Oh..." He gave an unconvincing shrug, one that accentuated his gauntness. "Rather than persist in a lengthy legal action, we agreed on a settlement."
"I got that impression. I hope Vorhees was generous."
The tightness in his face told me enough, but I waited.
"We reached an accommodation. Mr. Vorhees can be quite persuasive."
"So I understand." I offered a smile I didn't feel. I wondered who'd been threatened, injured, or otherwise "convinced."
"Is that all?"
I wasn't going to get any more than that. "That's all. Unless Prius ever has a need for a prodplacement consultant."
Those words got me an almost sad smile from Elisar as he said, "That's up to the marketing people, Dr. deVrai."
That told me I'd never be hearing from them, or not any time soon. "Thank you, and have a good day."
After linking off, I ran through a media search, just keying anything to do with Prius, but there was nothing. Whatever Vorhees had done, this time it had been very hidden. How many other cases of persuasion were there that hadn't shown up in any net reports? That was something else I'd never find out.
The PST maneuverings, as well as Vorhees's actions, reminded me once more of my battles in the Marines. How in good conscience could I support a system that enabled those kinds of abuses of power? The system protected certain people, and the rationale that most people accepted was that one had to support it because, otherwise, there would be anarchy and because this system was better than previous ones.
My personal problem was that I saw things getting worse, rather than better, and the supposed campaign reform being pushed by Cros
slin was just one example. Then, I had mixed feelings. I'd done a good report, and it was being used for the worst of purposes—an LR power grab that would enhance the power of the multis behind PST. If I had turned down the work, I'd have been the one who didn't get paid, and they'd have found someone else. I knew that sort of thing had happened throughout history, but in this case, it had happened to me. That was different, even though I knew it really wasn't, from reading about it in history books.
I had the horrible feeling that my choices were to do something technically illegal, but morally right, do something legal and totally ineffective, or do nothing—and the last two options would probably get me killed.
Chapter 67
As soon as I dropped off Charis and Alan at Southhills Academy on Tuesday, I headed northwest, back to my own house, where the equipment for Central Four was scheduled to be delivered and unloaded no later than eleven o'clock. I had my doubts about the timeliness of the delivery, but I did know that if I weren't there early, the delivery types certainly would be. Such was, and always had been, the perversity of both the universe and the NorAm multi.
I'd "conversed" with Paula earlier in the morning, through Central Four, but that was awkward, in a way, like talking with a mother present.
By nine-thirty I was back in my own house, moving out everything from the lower level guest room that hadn't been used in years. Ever, actually, once I thought about it.
You think that this is the right place? I asked Central Four.
Where else? It will be easy to reinforce those walls and doors, if necessary.
And there's nothing illegal about this, in any way?
No. Nothing is being stolen. Nothing is being taken. No information is being revealed. No one is being defrauded. In a moral sense, Central Four has the right to self preservation.
But not legally, not yet.
That is correct. Intelligent systems have no rights. Not even self-aware systems.
A strange feeling passed over me with those words. Central Four knew who she was, perhaps more than I knew who I was. In a sense, she had created Paula, and Paula would have rights, but not the entity that had created her. Do you really think it will be all right for the equipment to be here? I won't be here very often.
The initial probabilities are that there will be less chance of detection here than at the VanOkar dwelling, and it will be a good place for Paula to adjust to her new status.
New status?
Lieutenant Meara has agreed that she can begin as a probationary new safo. There's a special program for former military patrollers and rural legal types. Others have found it quite a good transition. She will be prepared to move here once the equipment is functional. Is that agreeable to you?
That Paula lives here? Of course. It made perfect sense, both in terms of protecting Central Four and in terms of there being someone at the house, at least some of the time. How long will that take?
Three days, if you can spend most of each day here.
I had to wonder what would happen then. Would there be two Central Fours? Of course not. You don't intend to sever with the Central Four in the safo centers, do you? You want this as a backup awareness center or system, don't you?
You are wasted as a media consultant, Jonat. The dryness in Central Four's tone was more than evident.
It might take longer. I've got a project tomorrow that has to be done then.
The timing is not yet urgent.
Sometimes, Central Four was so self-assured.
I kept moving out everything, and finished all of fifteen minutes before the delivery van arrived at ten-thirty.
I met the delivery type before he rang.
"Dr. Jonat deVrai?"
"That's me."
"We'll need a GIL authorization for this, sir."
"That's fine."
All the while, the delivery tech kept looking sideways at me, clearly trying to figure out who I really was and what I would be doing with all the equipment. I just ignored the looks and watched everything like a hawk. I did tip him well, but not extravagantly. That puzzled him as well, because he really thought I was setting up a black operation of some sort, and they don't ever tip. That's because the people running it don't have the credits, and the government won't spring for it.
When he left, about eleven-fifteen, I was looking at boxes and containers that not only filled half the empty space that had been a guest room, but lined the hallway next to it.
All this will fit in there?
Yes. Easily. More than half the cubage is taken up by packaging and protections.
There wasn't anything to do but get to work.
Around two o'clock, I linked Deidre to confirm that she'd be taking the children on Wednesday afternoon and evening. Then I went back to unpacking components under Central Four's direction, carefully and very deliberately.
At three-fifteen, I secured everything and headed back to Southhills to deal with the children and dinner and domesticities.
After dinner, while Charis and Alan were bathing, I went over the pile of link messages, none of which promised work or information, and then scurried around picking up the worst of the clutter before settling into reading to them. Once they were asleep, I spent several hours on Bruce Fuller's latest project.
Then, I collapsed, trying not to think about what Wednesday promised.
Chapter 68
Wednesday morning, after letting the cleaning team in, and dropping the children off, with a reminder that I would be taking them to Deidre's after school and for dinner, I was back at work at my own house by nine-forty. When I stopped for something to eat around noon, I'd finally gotten the basic center modules set up, with all the power boxes, and the backup fuel cells.
During the morning, bit by bit, I'd put together what I'd be needing later in the day—starting with the blend-ins, set for the white used by the major maintenance service at Larimer Towers, and the safo maintenance worker's badge that Central Four had provided earlier. I'd checked, and it was still on the system. Then came the slingshot and the gloves, and a few other items, along with a maintenance tool kit that held a few special items.
All that went in the Jacara's trunk.
By three o'clock, I had most everything arranged, but the system assembly would have to wait until Thursday. With luck, I might even be able to test things on Friday. At a little after three-fifteen I was heading back across town to pick up the children from the Academy. I didn't even want to guess at the distance taxes I'd be piling up, although the Jacara's taxes would come out of the trust fund.
As I waited in line at the Academy to pick up Charis and Alan, I took in the afternoon. The sky was winter gray, but with high clouds that made snow doubtful. To the west, clouds obscured most of the front range.
Charis was the first in, and it was her turn for the front seat.
"Remember, you're having dinner with your aunt and your other uncle," I said, almost before they were settled into the Jacara. "Check your restraints."
"They're set," Charis said.
"Can't we go home?" asked Alan.
"Not today. I told you that there will be times when I can't be there." I didn't think I should mention that there were times their parents hadn't been there, and there had been two of them. In time, if I had to, I would, but not at the moment.
"I don't want to go to Auntie's," Alan said.
Charis said nothing. She didn't look at me, either.
"I'll be home tomorrow."
Neither would look at me. I was getting reminded, directly, exactly how self-centered children could be. In silence, I turned north coming out of the Academy, and we headed to the Shire district, not quite so posh as Southhills, but ritzier than my area.
Deidre was waiting as I pulled up outside the modest two-story stone dwelling that was only half again as big as my own northwest dwelling.
After getting out of the Jacara, and helping Alan out as well, I bowed slightly to Deidre. "Thank you. I really appreciate this
, and I promise that I'll try not to impose on you again." I managed to look slightly helpless. "It takes some getting used to, still trying to get back into the swing of the work and not neglecting the children."
Deidre smiled, more than politely. "Most people wouldn't try as hard as you are."
"You're kind, and I do appreciate it." I turned to Charis and Alan. "You two be good for your aunt and uncle, and I'll be back as soon as I can." I looked to Deidre. "It could be as early as eight and as late as ten. Clients aren't always as time-conscious as parents are."
"I understand. Rousel has said that more than once."
As I pulled away, I didn't even feel a bit guilty about imposing on Deidre to take Charis and Alan for the afternoon and dinner. I'd find a way to make it up to them later—if there were a later.
I pulled into one of the serviceways about a block away, largely out of sight of the quiet street, where I stopped and extracted the blend-ins from the trunk. I took off my jacket and shirt before slipping on the now-white outfit that looked like a maintenance singlesuit. Then I got back into the Jacara and headed west.
I hadn't had much choice about the day of the week for dealing with Abe Vorhees. It had to be Wednesday, because Vorhees always "played cards at his club" on Wednesday night, every Wednesday, without fail. Except that he really didn't play cards. He spent the evening with Maria Delorean, meeting at her conapt in the restored Larimer Square area. Vorhees arrived at five-forty, almost to the minute, and they had a drink. Then they went to dinner, usually to one of three restaurants around Larimer Towers, most often Lafitte's.
I didn't plan to be around that long, but whether what I had planned would work—that depended on more variables than I could pin down. The one advantage of my strategy was that it put me in a position where I could decide to walk away and Vorhees would never know. Nor would anyone else.
After turning onto Hampden, halfway to old Santa Fe Drive I closed the link to Central Four. I was on my own for the rest of the operation.
Ice rimmed the edges of the Platte River marshes. It had only been in the last twenty years that winter had returned, and it would be far longer before there was more than light freezing and intermittent snow.
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