Meara walked swiftly down the corridor.
Paula stepped up to Lieutenant Meara. "Sir?"
"I'm late for a meeting with the captain, Athene. It'll have to wait."
"One thing, sir."
"What is it?"
"The captain took a restrainer into his office. It's badly adjusted. It could hurt someone. It could hurt them badly, but he didn't listen to the tech. He's not in a good mood."
Meara smiled, briefly, warmly. "Thank you. You'd better get back to your screens."
"Yes, sir."
The lieutenant stepped past Paula and knocked on the door.
"Do come in, Lieutenant." Garos's voice carried overtones of insincerity, as it always did.
No sooner had the lieutenant entered than the privacy screen hummed into place, leaving the two officers supposedly isolated from eavesdropping.
Out in the corridor, Paula did not move, waiting.
"You have exceeded your authority once too often," said Garos, his eyes not even looking at Meara. He took a step sideways, so that his hand rested on the edge of the console, just above the misadjusted restrainer.
"I beg your pardon, Captain. I'm not aware that I have done anything except what my duty requires."
"You have a strange idea of duty, Meara. That trick with the ISS raid, for example. I can't prove it, and probably no one can, but those neural-whips were assembled by your cydroids and systems to frame ISS. ISS would never be that stupid."
"I've seen many people do stupid things, sir. I learned a long time ago that it happens. I don't think there's any doubt that ISS was intending to ship proscribed weapons to Mars."
"The way they were intended to be shipped was not proscribed, Lieutenant, and our job is to uphold the law as it is written, not as we think it should be written."
In the corridor outside, Paula checked the transparent film gloves that covered both hands and extended almost to her shoulders. She waited, her face tense.
"I agree, sir. The law says that if proscribed weapons are found, then a raid and prosecution are in order. They were found, and the Safety Office proceeded under the law as written."
"You are insubordinate, Lieutenant, and I will note that you became violent and abusive." Garos's fingers closed on the restrainer, he lifted and triggered it in one smooth motion.
The loops flashed around Meara's shoulders and neck with excessive speed and force, and her neck snapped with a dull crack.
The door opened, and closed almost instantly behind Paula, who lifted a thin weapon, firing once.
Garos had no time to look surprised as the old-style slug went through the middle of his forehead.
Abruptly, every light in the complex flashed off.
Paula bent, placed the slimline in Meara's hand, and fired the weapon once more. Then she straightened and stepped outside into the darkness, vanishing down the corridor, and stripping off the gloves as she moved, gloves that had already begun to disintegrate.
I made a few minor omissions to the recording, edited out Paula's presence, and then restored power.
A warning had not been enough, not with Meara's disbelief at the depth of Garos's treachery. But with every utterance monitored, and when Meara had never checked her screens or links before seeing Garos, what else could we have done?
Now ... certain files will go to the review board, under Meara's imprint, and to Captain Sudro, as supporting evidence that Garos had killed Lieutenant Meara when he had learned what she had discovered. That much I can do. It is the truth, in essence, if not in fact.
The end and the beginning are near. Or will it be the other way around? One way or another, matters will never be the same. They never are.
Chapter 92
Wednesday morning, I got Charis and Alan off to school early, reminding them that I was going to the AKRA seminar, but that I'd be there to pick them up after school. On Thursday, of course, Devon Bowes would be picking them up. I'd already arranged that with the Academy, although she'd be driving the Jacara, which had the security signaler.
After I dropped them off, I headed for the East Capitol Plaza, wearing one of my better black jackets, with a pale green shirt, and a darker green cravat. I also carried a datacase with a few sample analyses. Chelsa Glynn had asked that all presenters attend the opening session, which started at ten o'clock in the big meeting room of the Capitol Ritz.
The fact that AKRA could afford to use the Ritz facilities said a lot. I didn't park at the hotel itself, but at a carpark a block away, one that took bearercards. The walk through the chill January morning did me good. I'd exercised faithfully, but I missed being able to run in the open air. Most of the soreness and pain from Monday was gone, but I was still stiff in places, probably from moving around and straining unresponsive muscles.
The Ritz had been rebuilt fifteen years earlier, and the interior would have been perfectly suited as an updated version of the Taj Mahal or something similar. High ceilings, stone facades, golden glimmering light everywhere, polished marble floors in all public spaces.
The conference center was on the north end, a good hundred meters from the main lobby. A portascreen announced in bright colors: AKRA SEMINAR: FOCUS ON THE SUBPERCEPTUAL.
As I glanced around, I saw Chelsa Glynn was hovering near the portable terminals where seminar participants could check in. She was even taller than I'd thought, standing eye level to me. I didn't head for her until I'd presented myself to a scanner screen and received a badge that proclaimed me as "Dr. Jonat C. deVrai, Media Consultant/Scholar."
As I neared, she looked my way, and the worried look on her narrow face turned to a smile, and the brown eyes lit up. Her badge defined her as "Dr. Chelsa Glynn, Director, Peer Communications, AKRA." "Dr. deVrai, I'm so glad you've recovered and that you're here. A number of people had hoped you'd be able to make it."
"Thank you. I'm very glad to be here."
"The first session won't be starting for another twenty minutes, but you and Barbara Hulteen are the last of the major presenters. Do you know Barbara? She's the one who developed an entirely visual analytical method for detecting subperceptual reactions to physical stimuli."
"I can't say that I've met the woman."
"She's very incisive."
That suggested I might not want to meet her.
"There she is." Chelsa turned. "Barbara!"
Incisive she might be, but Barbara Hulteen was a pleasant-faced, brown-haired woman with a polite smile, a good head shorter than either Chelsa or me. Hulteen turned toward us immediately, and I quickly focused on her badge: "Dr. Barbara S. Hulteen, Perceptual Research, Medical School, University of Colorado."
"I wanted you to meet Jonat deVrai."
I nodded. "Pleased to meet you."
She smiled and said, pleasantly, "Your paper on the role of subperceptual influence in product placement was intriguing. Necessarily oversimplified, but solid. At some time, I'd like to discuss the algorithms you're using in your analyses. I might have some suggestions that would work with smaller samples."
"I'd be very interested," I replied. At least, she was pleasantly incisive.
"If you two would come with me...?" Chelsa Glynn started toward the main meeting room. We followed.
The opening session was easy enough. All I had to do was sit in a chair on the dais, stand when introduced, and sit back down. Then, we listened to a moderately interesting speech by the director general of AKRA, and then the opening session was over, and people headed off to the various presentations—two at a time, in the smaller meeting rooms.
I wasn't there for the subject matter, but to display my presence, and to prospect for potential future clients because it looked like I'd need them. My older clients weren't providing that much occupational sustenance these days.
So, I wandered the halls, chatting, sizing up various people.
"Dr. deVrai!"
I turned.
A man with a round face and a solid frame hurried up. His badge identified him as "Mart
in Greenhalgh, Senior Analyst, SierraCraft." I had no idea what SierraCraft did.
"Jonat deVrai... you're the only consultant who ever had the nerve to tell a client that Vorhees and Reyes were stealing their credits screen over screen."
"I'm not sure I'd like to be known for that. I'd really rather provide product placement services."
"We've been thinking about it... but..."
I smiled and provided a card. "Whenever..."
Greenhalgh tucked it away. "Have to give you credit. Abe Vorhees ... he was as crooked as blackholed light." Greenhalgh shook his head. "But people kept buying his services. Some still are, but I don't think it'll last. Wasn't that something, his mistress doing him in?"
"I'd heard about that," I said. "Until it came out, I didn't even know he had one."
"They say some people did. There's also word out that more than a few people disappeared or had strange accidents after they crossed old Abe. You know anything about that?"
"I'd heard rumors," I admitted, "but with rumors you never know for certain."
"That's the truth." He smiled, and started to turn away. "I just wanted to say hello."
"If you have a real product placement question," I suggested, "you know where to find me."
But he was already gone.
In a sense, that was my day at the seminar. I passed out a lot of cards, listened to a few presentations, but slipped out of more than I listened to. One of the more intriguing ones was actually by Barbara Hulteen, because she was clearly interested in the implications of her research and what it might mean. I was interested, too, if for a different reason. I wasn't so sure I wanted visual equipment that could scan and measure reactions I wasn't even certain I'd recognize. That struck me as worse than the excesses of rez and product placement.
I was tired by the time I left to pick up the children, although I left a little early so that I could time the route from the East Capitol Plaza to the carpark nearest to the Centre for Consumer Equality—and the Centre for Societal Research.
After I picked up the children, the rest of the afternoon was routine. I checked messages, but there was nothing from any client, or any potential client. The stillness was deafening—and worrisome.
Then, later, Charis almost balked at practicing, but she took a single look at my face, swallowed, and said, "Yes, Uncle Jonat."
Dinner was quiet, but no one complained, because I'd dug out Aliora's recipe for enchiladas, modifying it to my tastes, and they both liked it. I hadn't heard from Paula in days, and finally, while Charis and Alan were bathing and getting ready for storytime and bed, I linked her.
Her image appeared immediately. She was still in uniform.
"Hello, Jonat." Her voice was pensive.
"Are you all right?"
"As you always say, it's been a long day."
"What happened?"
"Haven't you heard?"
"I've spent all day at this seminar I'm speaking at tomorrow—except for when I picked up the children and fixed dinner."
"You'll hear before long. Captain Garos charged Lieutenant Meara with malfeasance in office. They were alone. Whatever happened, it cut off the power in the building everywhere for several minutes. When it was all over, they were both dead. She'd been strangled by a malfunctioning restrainer, and Garos had been shot with a slimline slug-thrower from his own desk."
I didn't say anything for a moment, linking instead.
Minerva! Did you have—
There was no other choice. There are no traces. There will be none.
And you didn't let me know?
What could you have done? Have you always let us know?
"That's..." I shook my head. "That has to have been hard on you."
Paula nodded.
"I'm sorry. I had no idea."
"It's really created a mess."
"I can imagine that. Will an investigation show something about Garos, or can anyone say?"
"I don't know. It's possible. There was a whole team there from DomSec."
I didn't like that, but I had to hope that Minerva was right, and that everything was in hand. "I've been thinking about you ... but... I just didn't have any idea."
"Thank you. I've been thinking about you ... about when you were a Marine, I mean."
That stopped me, for a moment. I wanted to say that I hoped things weren't that bad, but that would have been incredibly patronizing, not that I probably wasn't anyway when I didn't even think about it.
"Jonat... I'm tired. Can we talk later?"
"Yes. We can. Please get some rest, and take care of yourself. Do take care of yourself." That was all I could really say.
"Thank you. I will."
I just looked at the ancient leatherbound books on the wall for several minutes. Everywhere, the bodies were piling up.
Then I got up and headed upstairs to get ready to read to Charis and Alan. Later, I'd have to finish my preparations for tomorrow.
Chapter 93
Thursday morning was another rush, because Charts couldn't find the trousers and blouse she wanted to wear. She didn't quite accuse me of being slow with the laundry, but it was a good thing she didn't because we found the outfit at the end of her closet—clean. She apologized, but we were almost late to school. I dropped them off at five minutes before the hour, reminding them that Devon Bowes would be picking them up.
"Why?" asked Alan.
"Because I'm giving a talk at the seminar, and because I need to meet people to get clients." Once more, what I said was the truth, but not all of it.
I parked in the same carpark as the day before and made my way to the Ritz, where, since the halls were empty, I sat in on the end of a very boring presentation on the implications of measurement of subperceptual learning.
There were more people in the hallways after that, and I circulated and passed out more cards and smiles. Around ten o'clock, a thin and intense man walked toward me. I didn't really know him, but I knew the name on the badge: "Alfred P. Levin, Finance Director, LMT."
"Dr. deVrai."
"Yes." I smiled once more. "What can I do for you?"
"Not a thing. I just finished reading your paper earlier, and I wanted to congratulate you on explaining the complexities of product placement in such a clear fashion. I might add that I was even more impressed with the study you did for the Centre for Societal Research."
"Thank you. The study for the Centre was quite an effort, I'd have to say." And it had been, in so many ways. "What is your interest in the field?"
"Just intellectual. Financial, too, I suppose. This is a field where developments keep occurring, and a finance director who doesn't understand the technology and the science is at the mercy of the technologists."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
Levin smiled. "I don't know if you know, but your study has sparked a great deal of interest in the Legislature."
"I'd heard that Senator Crosslin was using it as the basis for his proposed campaign reforms. I can't say that I'd thought it would go that far when I started." Right afterward, but not at the beginning, which is just how so many bad ideas end up in practice.
"You never know, Dr. deVrai. You never do."
"I suppose not."
With a friendly smile, he was gone. At that moment, I wished he were on the Centre's board. I went on circulating and smiling, and supposed that some of it, perhaps ... maybe ... might lead to some future business.
At one, I had to duck out and meet Devon Bowes at the house and give her access to the house and turn the Jacara over to her. Then, driving my own Altimus, I hurried back to the Ritz and the seminar, where I worked in a half hour or so of meeting and greeting until a few minutes before two and my own presentation.
I was set up in the smaller of the two meeting rooms. While I couldn't imagine what I had to say as being of that great an interest, there were actually almost two dozen people in a room with chairs for close to a hundred. One of them was Chelsa Glynn.
At t
wo o'clock, I launched into my spiel. "As the program indicates, I'm Jonat deVrai. I'll be limiting the formal presentation to fifteen or twenty minutes, and then I'll answer questions. That way, I can be sure to address specific concerns. Now ... product placement. What is the present state of the art and how did we get here?" I paused. "In some ways, it's a very old concept, once known as keeping up with the Joneses, conspicuous consumption, greed is good ... and so on..."
I finished in eighteen minutes, and only two people left, while three others came in and stayed. I guess that meant I wasn't terminally boring.
"Now ... for questions." I looked around. No one seemed to want to ask anything.
After a moment, Chelsa Glynn raised her hand. "You seemed to indicate that measuring product placement success rates was difficult, if not impossible. How does this impact market research?"
A nice general question, an invitation to a thesis, if necessary, but I was grateful for the opening.
"One of the problems with assessing any marketing campaign is the need to tie the campaign to the actual product sales resulting from it. Under the strictures of the Privacy Act, this becomes even more difficult..."
After that, there were other questions, but not so many that I didn't finish close to on schedule at nine minutes before three.
Chelsa Glynn came up afterward. She was the only one who did.
"This was very good, Dr. deVrai. I think everyone here learned something. I know I did." She smiled enthusiastically. "I have to run, but I hope I'll see you at the reception."
"I certainly plan to be there." And I did.
I made my way out of the meeting areas, in the direction of the lobby, and then out to the carpark and the Altimus. There was no one in the carpark, not that it mattered much yet, as I slid behind the stick.
My destination was three long blocks west of the NorthTech maglev station, and it only took five minutes until I parked in the public carpark half a block to the west of the building that held the Centre. When I got out, I couldn't help looking to the west, where the snow hung just above the mountains. The last time I'd been where I stood, the front range had been almost snowless. Now it was a line of white.
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