Geosynchron

  Jara shrank back in her seat and hoped the lieutenant executive could not see her in the visitors' gallery of the parliament. She had no idea what kind of viewscreen Magan was using or what kind of panning and zooming capabilities he had. But from the glimpses Jara could catch of the hoverbird interior, he was in a much more comfortable environment than the unconnectible parliamentarians. It was possibly the most informal government chamber Jara had ever seen. Tables and chairs stood scattered around a large room in no semblance of logical order; Jara was hard pressed to find two matching pieces of furniture in the whole place. Paint was flaking off the walls. Josiah had assured her that this was only a temporary locale until the new parliament building was completed. ("Six years is temporary?" Chandler had muttered under his breath.)

  Josiah, for his part, was in no hurry to accept the lieutenant executive's word-and with it, presumably, the entrance of several legions of Council officers into Manila. He stood in the center of the room pondering Magan's unexpected words for a moment. The other forty-seven representatives were satisfied to observe and let Josiah do all the talking.

  Little wonder, given Josiah's air of poise and command. Kings and queens have disappeared from the Earth, thought Jara, but luckily we still have Sarinas. This was quite a position Josiah had gotten himself into, full of both promise and peril. Jara wondered if he fully appreciated that. Very few junior representatives found themselves parleying with a foreign army as an equal before their twenty-fifth birthday. If this worked, he was likely to reap the prestige-but if things turned sour, Jara had no doubt that Josiah would take the brunt of the blame.

  "What assurances do we have that you'll keep your word?" asked Josiah of the figure on the viewscreen looming over them all. "How do we know if your position on Grand Reunification isn't just a posture of convenience?"

  "Certainly you must understand that this decision isn't up to me," said Magan calmly. "Even if we win the fight against Len Borda tomorrow and the government installs me as high executive the day after ... there would be a long process before it became law. Your proposal would ultimately be decided by the Prime Committee and the Congress of L-PRACGs. The Defense and Wellness Council does not get a vote."

  "But you would be in a unique position to influence their decision."

  "Absolutely. Still, as you can appreciate"-Magan swept his hand in an arc to indicate the assembled representatives-"politics is politics."

  Bali Chandler stood up in his seat, looking even more bohemian than usual in a sky blue robe with frayed ends. "You realize that goes both ways," he said.

  The lieutenant executive fixed Chandler with a curious stare. "Meaning?"

  "Josiah's little manifesto might have fired up the chattering classes ... but it's not official policy. And it's pretty vague on the specifics too."

  "And purposefully so, I imagine," Magan interjected.

  The old parliamentarian nodded. "All I'm saying is, the Islanders might all wear the same copper collars in connectible territories, but we've got a pretty diverse government here. Nothing's been put to a vote even inside this room, much less in the population at large. The spot polls from last night give the idea of Reunification a high approval rating-around sixty-two percent, isn't that right?" Various murmurs of assent floated through the room. "But that still leaves a healthy opposition of thirty-eight percent, and we haven't even laid out the details yet. If I know Triggendala over there, she'll have that opposition number at forty-five percent by the end of the week. What do you say, Trigg?" The woman in question, a distinguished matriarch with a flinty look in her eye, gave an amused nod.

  "I don't expect this process to happen in a single night," said Magan cautiously. "I understand perfectly well that this is only the first step in what could prove to be a very long journey."

  "Speaking of journeys," said Josiah. "I should warn you that once you make landfall, you are likely to encounter some citizen militias that don't report to General Cheronna. They might not take too kindly to Council officers marching down their streets."

  Lieutenant Executive Lee was obviously prepared for this. "Don't worry. We will enter Manila with our dartguns in their holsters, and head straight for the outskirts. The warehouse district, if you're amenable. We have no intention of pressing our luck by mingling with our new brothers and sisters too soon." The humor in his voice was palpable, yet not mean-spirited. "As long as my forces are safely inside the unconnectible curtain and Len Borda's forces are stuck outside of it, I think a little civil disobedience is acceptable. If things get out of control, I may ask you to intervene."

  "Done."

  Josiah Surina turned towards his fellow representatives to see if there were any other points of contention. As far as Jara could tell, there were none. Even the overtly skeptical Triggendala and the handful of parliamentarians in her faction looked prepared to accept Magan Kai Lee's word for now if it would protect them from Len Borda. Jara wondered how many government negotiations were actually this simple: a few words of explanation, a few politely phrased objections, and then a deal.

  "The parliament will put this agreement to a formal vote as soon as we're through here," said Josiah. "But before we do, two more items."

  The lieutenant executive nodded serenely, his reservoirs of patience still quite full.

  "Bali Chandler here has introduced a resolution calling for Islanders throughout the globe to cast off their connectible collars," continued Surina. "We have already begun distributing connectible coins designed to replicate the functionality of the collars without-"

  Magan interrupted him with a nod and a hand gesture of assent. "I'm well aware of the connectible coins," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, you have my endorsement. My officers will be instructed not to interfere."

  An uncomfortable muttering worked its way around the parliamentary chamber, particularly in the neighborhood of Triggendala and her cohorts. Jara heard the word spying. "How do you know about the coins?" snapped Chandler, clearly irked.

  "Your countryman Quell has been wearing one for some time," replied Magan. "He has been kind enough to explain your issues with the collars to me in depth. I understand these coins were engineered by your mother, Josiah. As far as I can tell, they operate just as efficiently as the collars. So yes, by all means, distribute them. If Grand Reunification moves forward, I suspect we'll soon be seeing them all around the globe."

  "That brings me to the second item I was going to mention," said Josiah. "My father."

  "Quell will be coming to Manila with us. He is on my ship as an honored guest."

  Jara could see a brief flicker of relief on Josiah's face. "Is he uninjured?"

  "Except for his pride," said Magan, his lips sliding into a smile. "My chief engineer Papizon is absolutely murdering him in holo poker over here."

  Jara and her fiefcorp accompanied Josiah and Chandler to the hoverbird docks to welcome the first arrivals of Magan Kai Lee's fleet. As per previous arrangement, Magan's four legions would bivouac in the warehouse district a few kilometers south of Manila proper to avoid confrontation with the vocal minority of Islanders who were already gearing up a protest movement. A small contingent would land here, within sight of the City Center, where they would be greeted by the heir to the Surinas and General Cheronna, not to mention a crowd of hand-picked supporters and friendly drudges. Jara caught her first glimpse of the general; a short, fat man with bright red hair and closely trimmed beard, he had the stiff and formal demeanor that the situation required.

  Ben seemed uncharacteristically pleasant, almost sunny. It was almost enough to make Jara nervous. She tagged him on ConfidentialWhisper. "So where's the sour word today?" she said. "If I don't get complaints from you in any twenty-four-hour period, I start experiencing withdrawal symptoms."

  The young apprentice's face slid into a wry grin. "We did what we came here to do. We provided an independent assessment of the situation, and our client is happy. I'm not allowed to savor victory for once?"

  "Oh
, savor it all you want. I'm just starting to depend on you for the contrary opinion. It keeps me on my toes."

  "All right then," said Benyamin, cracking his knuckles in mock preparation for a street fight. "Here's the contrary opinion. This whole production is a big farce. Josiah's manifesto stirred a lot of passions, but nobody's actually voted for Reunification. Even if the Islander parliament votes unanimously to accept it, we have no indication how the Prime Committee's going to take this."

  "We've got public opinion polls. Zeitgeist gives us seventy-four percent either in favor or leaning towards."

  "Who cares? You know this isn't going to be that easy. Once the public sees what they're going to have to give up for Grand Reunification, those numbers are going to start sinking fast. Everyone's going to get bogged down in details. This movement could take twenty years to get anywhere."

  "It might," admitted Jara. "But nobody said movements had to be fast."

  As if to demonstrate the veracity of her comment, Magan's forces were running over two hours late, leaving a lot of drudges and eager supporters sweating in the midday sun. Jara had a sudden fear that Len Borda had decided to invade the Islands after all, or maybe he had attacked Magan's hoverbirds to prevent them from slipping behind the unconnectible curtain. But no, General Cheronna confirmed that Borda had chosen not to engage the enemy; his hoverbirds still sat unmoving in the middle of the ocean, as if unmanned. Magan's delay was simply a matter of too few officers chasing too many details, or what High Executive Tul Jabbor had called the natural friction of the world.

  The delay was not a bad thing for Jara, as she had a chance to catch up on news from the outside world. Josiah's manifesto had achieved an astounding eighty percent penetration in a matter of hours. Some were predicting that this could turn out to be the world's most-read document of the past five years, though exactly how one could measure that was unclear. The unconnectible drudges were largely focusing on Josiah's proposal for Reunification (a word that had already made it into the vernacular and inspired several dozen Jamm compositions and a short drama starring Bill Rixx). But all the connectible drudges cared about was the revelation that Margaret Surina had had a son. Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee quickly began speculating why Josiah had kept his identity a secret for so long. Mah Lo Vertiginous proclaimed himself dubious about the whole thing, all evidence to the contrary. Kristella Krodor, meanwhile, was busy running Josiah Surina's official photograph through dozens of black market phrenology programs and making all sorts of outrageous claims about the young Islander's character.

  But the laugh of the day belonged to Suheil and Jayze Surina. The two had officially petitioned the courts in Andra Pradesh to nullify the agreement they had signed with Jara-an agreement that forty-eight hours earlier they had held up as a model of modern contractual law. The judges, of course, said no. Certainly there was a posse of lawyers in the Surina compound right now searching for any conceivable loophole to deny Josiah his heritage.

  Jara was busy perusing Suheil and Jayze's apoplectic statement to the drudges, full of paranoid accusations and colorful euphemisms for the Islanders, when Magan's hoverbirds came zipping out of the mist a kilometer or so offshore. Josiah, Chandler, and General Cheronna stood stiffly at attention as the first vehicle arced down to the dock and came to a smooth stop.

  The door opened, and out stepped Quell.

  It was only now, with father and son standing face to face, that Jara could see the resemblance between the two. Josiah's face and mannerisms might have come straight from the maternal line; but the muscular torso, the proud posture, and the firm browline-those were all traits he had inherited from Quell. Jara wished she had a better angle to see the expressions on their faces. According to Chandler, it had been many months since the two had seen each other. To say they had a lot to talk about was a considerable understatement. But here, in front of the world, the pair knew that their duty was to shake hands politely and keep their composure. They performed admirably.

  Lieutenant Executive Magan Kai Lee walked off the hoverbird next. His face was perfectly impassive as he offered a respectful bow to Josiah, then clasped the Islander's hand for a shake. There were some pro forma words being exchanged up there, but Jara couldn't hear them. She turned towards Benyamin with a question on her lips, but was surprised to see someone else standing in his place.

  The Council's chief solicitor, Rey Gonerev.

  "Towards Perfection, Jara," said the Blade. On her face was the same smile Jara had seen the last time they were together: not an expression of mockery or disdain, but the smile of an equal. She wondered if they might have formed a friendship had they met under different circumstances.

  "And to you too," replied the fiefcorp master. "Looks like you and Magan have pulled off quite a coup here."

  "It's a beginning," nodded Gonerev with the slightest of shrugs.

  "A beginning? You've got the Islanders on your side and a base that's free from multi projections. Not to mention public opinion and the legal title to MultiReal. Seems to me you've got Len Borda in quite a bind."

  The Blade reached up to toy idly with the braids of her hair. "You forget that we're still badly outnumbered," she said. "Don't underestimate Len Borda when he's cornered. There's a reason he's held onto power for so long. He knows there's one trump card that has yet to be played-and that's MultiReal. If Natch ends up in Borda's hands, none of this will make the least bit of difference." Gonerev inclined her head in the direction of the dock, where Josiah and Magan were still exchanging stilted, prescripted words for the benefit of the drudges.

  All of this cozy familiarity was beginning to irk Jara. She wasn't necessarily upset at the outcome here, having privately concluded that the lieutenant executive was the lesser of two evils. But it wasn't as if Magan Kai Lee had nothing to answer for. It wasn't as if he represented some radiant new governing philosophy, instead of representing ... no philosophy at all. "So does Magan really intend to keep his promises?" Jara snapped. "Is he really going to pursue Grand Reunification as high executive? Or is this just for show?"

  Rey Gonerev calibrated her words carefully. "I think you'll find that Magan Kai Lee is a man of his word," she said. "He doesn't hold pointless grudges, and he really does want what's best for the Islanders. As for Reunification ..." The solicitor sighed. "We'll need to study it, of course."

  "So you admit this wasn't part of your plan?"

  "Magan's not clairvoyant," replied the Blade with a relaxed laugh. "You give him much too much credit. Do you really think he knew what advice you were going to give to the Islanders? He can't predict and manipulate events-he just knows how to ride them once they happen. That's the art of politics-being able to take credit for whatever happens, whether it's what you want or not."

  Jara pressed on. "And is Reunification something Magan wants? Did the Islanders make the right decision letting him behind the curtain instead of Borda?"

  "Yes. They'll get a better deal with Magan than they would with Len Borda. I won't lie to you. Things might not turn out exactly like the Islanders are hoping, but I'm sure they'll be better for it in the long run. History will vindicate their decision."

  The fiefcorp master snorted. "I wouldn't be so sure. There's nothing sacrosanct about history. History is written by the ones with the best marketing consultants."

  4

  N O HWAN'S

  CRUSADE

  22

  The orbital colony of 49th Heaven consisted of seven concentric rings joined by a single avenue that pierced the whole like the arrow in a bull's eye.

  Back in the days of the colony's founding, three hundred years prior, that broad connecting corridor was patrolled by monks in the service of Jesus Elijah Muhammad, last of the so-called Three Jesuses. Muhammad had learned from the missteps of his predecessors, Jesus Joshua Smith, and Jesus Cortez, who had whipped adherents of the world's major religions to ruinous violence. But Jesus Elijah Muhammad was a man of forethought and logic; he had a system. As his relig
ion was a hyperrational amalgam of existing faiths, the orbital colony he built was an ultramethodical place of worship. Newcomers arrived in the outermost ring of 49th Heaven. As they grew in wisdom, they gradually received permission from the Muhammadan monks to progress to the next ring inward. The central ring was reserved for only the most pious, the most holy, the most dedicated. When the central ring of 49th Heaven reaches capacity, Jesus Elijah Muhammad once proclaimed, God's Kingdom on Earth will begin.

  Muhammad brought everything he needed to make 49th Heaven successful, except for good accountants. Within a generation, the colony was insolvent.

  In an irony that was not lost on the rest of the world, 49th Heaven was revived decades later by a consortium of gambling cartels. The cartels restored the colony to its original luster and turned it into a sybaritic resort. The Lunar tycoons who flocked there were amused to find that the new owners of 49th Heaven had flipped Jesus Muhammad's hierarchy on its head. Now the outer rings were filled with everyday titillations, while the innermost rings were reserved for only the most exclusive of customers and the most decadent of vices. Hallucinogenic black code, sexual slavery, extreme games of chance. When the central ring of 49th Heaven reaches capacity, High Executive Par Padron once declared in a fit of righteous rage, I'm going to blast it out of the fucking sky.

  Padron was not the only one in the Terran centralized government who chafed at the excesses of 49th Heaven. Black code flowed freely out of the inner rings, while people and resources got sucked in and were never heard from again. But what could the government do about it? The colony's charter was covered with the prickly language of lawyers, and the Defense and Wellness Council's jurisdiction there was murky. High executives dating back to Par Padron regularly threatened to blow up 49th Heaven, or at the very least, shut it down. But even Zetarysis the Mad blanched at the thought of dealing with twenty thousand refugees, many of whom would likely be strung out on black code. And so the gambling cartels tried to keep the entertainments in the outer rings palatable, and the Council pretended it didn't know what was happening in the inner rings.