And then there was Paula. I couldn't pretend or ignore the feelings any longer. I found her attractive. But was it the attraction of a man who was no longer so young as he used to be, looking for a younger woman? That thought disturbed me. I couldn't say just how much.
Or was that attraction based on the quixotic contradictions within her, the juxtaposition of book knowledge and hard safo with the social naiveté? Add to that my own naiveté, at least in the area of cydroids and safos. I'd never thought about what happened to cydroids. What had happened to Everett Forster's cydroid? Or the others? Admittedly, there couldn't have been that many, but still...
Sitting in Dierk's office in the early afternoon, trying to keep working on the economic and financial analysis of the MultiCor income and expense figures, I couldn't seem to keep those thoughts from circling back and nagging at me.
Minerva... what happens to cydroids? Do all the ones used by the Safety Office eventually become real... they're all real... I mean legal citizens, that sort of thing?
The safo cydroids do— the ones who survive the cydroid uses. It was decided very early that those who survived and developed full self-awareness would be granted legal status.
Not all become fully self-aware?
Approximately thirty percent do not. They remain safo cydroids. There are always uses for older observers and scouts.
What about private cydroids?
They are the property of their owners. Even if their owners choose to grant them legal independence, they must pass a standard test to demonstrate self-awareness.
I shook my head. Another class of serfs or slaves, admittedly small, but still enslaved. I worried as much about what they symbolized as about the plight of individual cydroids. What kind of culture had we become? I'd been as blind as anyone, seeing the occasional cydroid and really not seeing what lay behind.
Another thought flashed into mind.
Minerva ... did I do anything wrong with Paula?
Do you think you did?
Not that I know of.
Then why do you worry?
I don't know, but I do worry.
She is strong-willed. Have you had any difficulty in knowing what she has said?
No. I worry about what she hasn't said.
That is the sign of a wise man.
I'm not a wise man, and I'm not sure that I'd recognize one if I met him. I paused, then added, Another few days and I should have a draft of the analysis finished.
The sooner you finish it, the sooner we can act, and the safer you will be.
I didn't need that kind of prompting. I take it that PST and ISS have not decided to leave me alone?
The probabilities are that you have two to three weeks before another action is taken against you. I cannot calculate what that action will be. Each one is likely to be more difficult than the previous one to anticipate.
Thank you.
You're welcome. I didn't want to deal with that problem at the moment. I was more interested in Paula. What about Paula? Did I do anything to upset her?
She has not expressed anything to me, but she would not.
Minerva never did answer my questions about Paula. So I had no choice but to link her directly. She was at my house. But then, I realized, so was Minerva.
Paula was sitting in the armchair in my office, one of my old bound books in her hand. I couldn't see which one. She was wearing a gray singlesuit, probably an old safo suit, but she looked good even in that. "Jonat."
"I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"You can see. I'm reading. I like the bound books. They seem easier to read this way, rather than using a reader or a projected screen."
"I've always thought so, but I never told anyone. It marks you as old-fashioned."
"You are old-fashioned."
"In what way?"
"You worry about things like morals or whether you've hurt someone's feelings."
"Especially after I've done something nasty, in the name of self-defense—like in that tunnel."
"There was no need for them to use lethal weapons. All they had to do was close the tunnel doors. They wanted you dead."
I didn't answer for a moment because thinking about it made me angry all over again. I'd gone, looking for evidence against ISS, because there hadn't seemed to be any alternative, and ended up in another situation where there hadn't been any alternative—and I was getting very tired of being put in positions where there weren't any good alternatives.
If I did nothing, I'd get killed. Removing individuals who had targeted me hadn't seemed to help much, and even if I did manage to avoid attempt after attempt and then remove the perpetrator, another would pop up. What did I have to do to get back to a peaceful life—wipe out the entire leadership of the PST group?
I shook my head. That seemed drastic—and impossible.
"Are you all right?" Paula asked.
"Oh ... I'm surviving. Occasionally, I get to thinking about something else, when I shouldn't be. What does your week look like?"
"The first four days are long. I don't know about Friday, yet..."
While I enjoyed talking to her, I felt as though I were walking on eggshells, not knowing exactly what to say, and what not to say. I did manage to avoid deep topics, and, eventually, she told me that she had to study some more.
After that, I got back to working on the analysis, but only for an hour before Alan insisted on playing football, despite the cold wind outside. It was very late that night before I finished with more work on the MultiCor analysis and with reviewing the Kemal tap records. So far no one had made a decision—or they hadn't made one within the scope of the tab-taps. The ones I'd used were only good for another week at the most, and if nothing happened, I'd have to replace them, somehow, or plant others. I wasn't looking forward to that, either.
Chapter 83
With the weekend, and spending time with the children—and with Paula—I didn't get around to finishing the first cut at the MultiCor economic analysis until late on Wednesday night. Then, without any more consulting work coming in, and with the AKRA seminar still over a week away, what else was I going to spend time on?
I also reviewed the recording tabs. There was only one brief series of remarks out of the tab in Tony Jaro's Magan.
"You hear anything from the big fellow about deVrai?"
"You don't ask the big fellow. He wants something done ... he'll let us know. Sloppy job on Ramires. His old woman saw the car."
"Doesn't matter. Junker we lifted from northside. Tags show as Phon Huang's." The punk laughed. "Safos track it, and she talks, show that the northside boys got Ramires. He can't tell her nothing. Not from underground."
"Good joke ... 'less Huang discovers it was you. Hang you on the guideway by your balls."
That was it, and it meant that I had to keep listening. If nothing happened, I'd have to place more tabs. I didn't want to do that, but I didn't want to be dead, either.
I'd tried to link with Paula on Monday, but our conversation was brief, and after her coolness on Sunday and again on Monday, I got the impression that she was preoccupied with her training and that she didn't want to spend too much time with me. So I only tried linking with her on Wednesday evening. I got her simmie. So I left a very brief message and got back to work on the last sections of the MultiCor analysis.
When I finished the last chart, the last data table, I leaned back in the big ergochair and took a long swallow of lukewarm Grey tea, and another.
Minerva ... what do we do now?
Is the draft finished?
It's a draft. The numbers are right. The words are rougher than I'd like.
Are you satisfied with the numbers and analysis?
They're fine.
Good. That is for the better. Minerva was silent for several moments. The analysis has been sent where it may do some good.
What? Are you locked into this system?
Only because you have linked systems. I am linked to your home s
ystem. There is a gate there, so that I cannot be reached through it unless I choose to be reached.
How did that happen?
That was one of the adjustments you made.
I had to wonder what other adjustments I'd made, just following her directions. Still... she'd played fair with me, when almost no one else had—except Aliora and Dierk. I swallowed. That was still hard at times.
Can you leak part of it to Eric Wong at SCFA? And, in a few days or so, to some unscrupulous netster? Maybe Wong could do something to upset the hidden PST machinery. What, I didn't know, but I wasn't having much success along those lines.
Minerva was silent for a time.
Just some of the provocative conclusions and figures, with the notation that it's a draft economic analysis being undertaken by whoever.
They would not dare to use such figures.
Of course not. But it might prompt them to ask the right kinds of questions, and the Sinese might well share the figures with other on-Earth governments ... Don't do it through my system.
There are other ways— through Central Four.
When the leaks start to come, that also ought to get DomSec upset about security, and there's nothing better to spread word about something than to have security types trying to track down a leak.
Leaking classified material is illegal.
It's not classified until someone classifies it.
That is a dubious proposition. But Minerva laughed. You have a nasty turn of mind, Jonat.
I'd better have a nasty turn of mind. It was about all I had going for me.
Chapter 84
Thursday came and went, and so did Friday morning. I hadn't heard from Paula, and I'd forced myself not to link again, reminding my impatient soul that she'd get in touch when she was ready and that I'd only make things worse by pushing. That was my problem everywhere, though. I'd pushed as much as I could with the consulting, and no one was forthcoming with new projects. I couldn't find any legal way to keep the PST types from setting me up, and I still had no idea what might be happening. Minerva had told me that the various Legislative committees— or their AI—had the analysis, and that matters were progressing. But she wouldn't—or couldn't—say how.
My whole life was hanging suspended—and doubtless in the balance—and any pushing I did on other people would probably only make matters worse.
I forced myself to work on comments for the abbreviated version of my paper at the AKRA seminar. That would pay a few credits, and was better than anything else I had going at the moment, or looked to have going for a long time to come.
I kept listening to my tabs on Jaro and Jackie and the unnamed punk, and early Friday afternoon, after making yet another set of revisions to my over-revised remarks for the AKRA seminar, I got more less-than-excellent news from that pair, via the tab in the Magan.
"The big fellow says to follow up on deVrai... says we got a contract."
"He got anything special how he wants it done?"
"Accidentlike, even accidentlike shooting."
"DeVrai's too good to smash his groundcars. Never leaves 'em outside, either. Can't do the kids. Maybe get him on the way to pick 'em up."
I hadn't seen them, but they'd obviously scouted what I was doing.
"How you going to do that?"
"Lorry. Fuel cell explosion. Big mess. Stolen lorry."
"He could still avoid you."
"Nah ... use a max stun, then ram him. Stun won't show after the fire."
"How long to set it up?"
"Can't do it before Monday. That'd be best. Lift the lorry on Sunday. Tuesday'd be all right, too."
"Make sure you get him. Big fellow won't give you a third try."
The punk's response was a grunt.
My problem was simple—and deadly. If I just stopped the punk—or even Ramset and Jaro—I'd still have all of Kemal's family after me. Even if I could neutralize them, I'd have the PST group to deal with.
Under the law, I still had no proof admissible in any court, and, even if I did, I was already legally guilty of two murders—and that didn't count the guards in the ISS tunnel. Somehow, there was something very wrong with a system that left a man who'd never even wanted to lift a weapon again in that sort of position. My sister and her husband had been murdered by the same group. Who knew how many people on Mars had died or would die? And there were at least a handful of cydroids who'd been sent to their deaths as pawns.
Minerva ... I have a problem, and that means you have one.
I know. What do you think your problem is?
I explained—in detail—all about the PST group, which she knew, and about Kemal's assignment from Alistar, most of which she knew. And that means that if I get murdered, Charis and Alan won't get to grow up the way Aliora wanted; you won't have any real protection, not that you have that much now; Paula will be left more alone; and these murderers will get away with it all—and they'll effectively be protected by the law that isn't protecting us.
That's true. What do you propose?
I took a screen out of her files. How much information do you have that shows the access to Mahmed Kemal?
He is under safo surveillance whenever he leaves his westside compound.
Can I review those files?
That's possible. Minerva laughed, and it was a laugh. Those are not restricted data.
I found that amusing—or ironic—as well. I'll need to review everything that you can funnel to me. I also need to know ... Can you calculate when there will be a meeting of one of those boards—something like the board overseeing the Centre for Societal Research—that contains most of the key PST actors?
I have already done that. There are two. The Health Policy Center board meets on Monday afternoon. Stacia Mydra is not on that board, and Alistar was not, but the other key members are.
Who are the key members, besides Tarn Lin Deng?
Grantham Escher, Stacia Mydra, Daria Ghamel, Alfred Levin, and Augustus Sharpton. Jacques Alistar was also, but if a replacement has been selected, he or she has not been announced. The oversight board for the Centre for Societal Research has Deng, Mydra, Ghamel, and Sharpton, but not Levin. Alistar was on that board. There is a meeting at the Centre next Thursday.
The nineteenth? What time?
Four o'clock.
How did you know that?
All such meetings require public notice. Such notices are routed through Central Four so that the Safety Office is aware of them. Most small meetings are ignored, but the regulations require notification of all meetings of a public nature.
I made a note of the time and date, then checked the schedule for the entire week. The AKRA seminar was on Wednesday and Thursday. My presentation was at one o'clock on Thursday, and there was an evening reception from five-thirty to seven. All of it took place at the Mast Capitol Plaza, not that far from the Centre for Societal Research. That showed possibilities, but I'd have to work quickly. That was probably for the best. I'd always had a tendency to let difficult decisions drift— another reason why Shioban had left me.
The question was whether I could develop and implement a plan, a set of plans in that time frame. If I couldn't, I'd be dodging at least one more attempt on my life. That thought didn't make me at all happy.
By three in the afternoon, I'd roughed out some possibilities, and scratched out others. I closed and coded the files, and then headed out to pick up Charis and Alan.
Chapter 85
I spent a good two hours on Friday, after putting the children to bed, studying all the views of the venues associated with Mahmed Kemal. I did note that Ken's Place wasn't among them, and I had to wonder how many others were not under surveillance. Then, what could be viewed was limited by law. All public byways could be, as well as all publicly owned and operated spaces. So could the areas around any business engaging in intercontinental or continent-wide commerce—as could the space outside the place of business or dwelling of any person convicted of a class-one felony. As a you
ng man, Mahmed Kemal had been caught with several thousand credits worth of fraudulent bearercards. That meant the area around his compound was under surveillance. Presumably, whoever technically owned Ken's Place had avoided a conviction of any significant offense.
After sweeping through the surveillance scans one time, I turned to Minerva.
Can you analyze these and create a problematic timetable for Rental's daily actions?
That is Possible. What do you have in mind?
What I have in mind, I evaded, depends on the timetable of his actions. What I really had in mind was doing away with both the punk and Kemal, and seeing if I could find a way to pin the whole thing on the northside "family"—at least in the perception of the newsies, the nets, and the safos. That was step one.
I can have a timetable within an hour.
I'd appreciate it, Minerva.
The probabilities are that you are considering actions that would result in severe punishment for you, if detected.
The probabilities are even higher that, if I don't undertake actions of that nature, I'll be dead, and someone will discover exactly what I've done for you— or merely disassemble the equipment and sell it off.
There was one of those long silences.
You are correct, although my discovery is more likely than my immediate destruction.
I don't think either one of us wants to gamble on this, I suggested.
Either way is a gamble. Your option offers better odds.
Does that mean agreement, reluctant or otherwise?
Reluctant agreement.
Now ... did the safos take any of the ultra-ex from ISS, as possible evidence?
One container, pending the outcome of the indictments and possible trial.
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