robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  "Sub zero." Rearden smiled. "You're radiating all kinds of positive waves. Like with that kind of attitude, maybe we can't lose."

  "I don't intend to lose." Or take the blame. Anarchist decker types were notorious for stealing authorization codes to lend legitimacy to their actions. Pamela had already logged a report of suspicious activity in her database; that would support her denial of Rearden's decking should it become necessary.

  Rearden swiveled her chair back to face the wallscreen. Flickering fingers danced in the air as Rearden did her magic, but Rearden's mystic passes were purely technological magic. Pamela waited.

  "In." The console cowgirl's body shuddered with released tension. "All quiet."

  Pamela breathed a sigh of relief. They'd opened the door without setting off an alarm. Rearden was earning her pay.

  "Bringing up his inventory on screens three and four."

  "Which?"

  "Sorry." Two of the windows on the wall changed color. "Yellow screens."

  Pamela scanned the titles and codes of the files displayed. Most were standard company files, a familiar format; some few suggested interesting possibilities; but nothing appeared to be what she sought. It would be foolish of him to label his vulnerabilities. Which among all of these things concealed what she needed to bring Nakaguchi down?

  Pamela leaned over the console and tapped in commands. A facsimile of her own databanks appeared on the center window. "Run a gross comparison using this stuff as a baseline. Bring up anything with anomalous storage parameters. I'm especially interested in anything with private access windows."

  "Righteo!"

  The wallscreen dissolved into a chaotic jumble of shifting windows mutating through an avalanche of sizes, colors, and scroll speeds. Pamela assumed Rearden was keeping track of it all somehow, but she was lost. Computer expertise was why she employed Rearden; Pamela let the expert work. Finally, the turmoil slowed, as did Rearden's flashing fingers. The decker grinned and folded her hands, smiling in a self-satisfied way. Screens three and four returned to their saffron steadiness, with an inventory sparser by far. Pamela scanned tlie file and database names. She was not surprised to see the charybdis Project databank as one of the suspect units. She used a laser pointer to highlight it.

  "We'll start here."

  Rearden made no move to unfold her hands. "He's got locks."

  "Open them."

  "They're complex."

  "You like to say you're the best at what you do. Can you get into his system or not?"

  "The run's been pretty clean so far, but I'm deep into it now. It's getting a lot more complex. He's got himself a pretty good cowboy, too. Nice work, real slick."

  "Are you saying you can't do it?"

  "Didn't say that. I'm just saying that Naki's decker's got crossfiles and tagalongs all over the place. Can't guarantee I won't leave traces."

  And traces could and would be tracked back to their source, to Rearden, and ultimately to her. Nakaguchi would explode when he found that someone had rifled his private files. He had earned his reputation as a hatchet man; heads would roll. Hers, if he found her denials implausible. Were the contents of Nakaguchi's files worth running the risks inherent in this attempt? Could whatever was hidden in them offer enough compensation?

  She didn't know. She had her suspicions, though. She couldn't afford not to know what was in those files; she needed any ammunition she could get.

  "Do it," she ordered.

  It had taken three of Nakaguchi's pitiful offerings before Quetzal had felt energized enough to stand. And stand he had. It felt glorious! To move again! To stand! To walk!

  Exhaustion had come quickly, and he had dismissed all save for Joel Lee and slept. Normal sleep, though, not the deeper sleep. When he awoke, he consulted the time device. Hours had passed. Only hours.

  He felt liberated.

  He was liberated. Free again to walk the earth, free to reclaim what had been his, free to exercise his rights as a master of the mysteries, but most of all free to enjoy life again.

  He was still hungry, though, but it was not the ravenous craving that had consumed him earlier. He could wait.

  From his deliciously soft bed, he surveyed the room, marveling at the strange furnishings. Everything was so plain and undecorated. Some little of what he saw was familiar, and he had Joel Lee name the exotic items. Later he would pursue the meanings of the strange objects; for now he was content to know their names. Knowing names was important.

  Nakaguchi appeared within minutes, unsummoned.

  "How are you feeling, Venerated One?"

  "Eager to be about."

  "The doctors advise that you regain more strength first. Your body is weak."

  That was a matter easily rectified. He could improve his strength immediately, but he needed Nakaguchi still; the Asian remained the only follower he had seen. He counseled himself to patience, to a gradual increase of his bodily strength.

  However weak his body, his will remained strong and his mind need not remain idle. There was much to learn about the era into which he had awakened. How much? Well, that was to be learned as well. Even abed, he could learn. His link with Joel Lee suppressed the slave's mind, rendering it useful for only limited information; but Nakaguchi, still independent, could answer far more complicated questions. But passive learning was best undertaken in a safe place and he had yet to determine if this place was safe enough. Nakaguchi seemed to think so, but with the Asian only barely initiated into the mysteries, his confidence might be misplaced. For the moment, safety was of paramount concern; there was much Quetzal could not anticipate about this new age.

  "Where is this place?" he asked.

  With only the slightest prodding, the Asian began to babble. He was clearly eager to please.

  "We are in Massachusetts, a member of the New England cooperative and one of the founding states of the United States of America. The United States is the dominant political entity in the North American free trade zone. This particular facility is situated in the Brookfield District of what is commonly referred to as the Northeast sprawl. It is the property of a company called Chemogenics, one of many companies belonging to the Mitsutomo Keiretsu, the greatest of the world's megacorporations."

  Nakaguchi made his statement with pride. It was full of the details Quetzal wanted, as Nakaguchi must have known, but there were important details lacking, including the most important one. "You control this Mitsutomo Keiretsu?"

  The Asian's pale skin tone grew darker as he flushed. "Regrettably not, Venerated One. But I am high in the councils of the one who does. He listens to me."

  A councilor only? The situation was not what it should be. "Who rules?"

  "The old man, of course. Hiroto Mitsutomo."

  So, it was a personal empire. Quetzal understood those. A trusted councilor had influence, if not power, and stood high in such an empire. Still, all was not as it should have been. He had expected that the followers would have established themselves as significant powers in the world as part of the preparation, but they should not have made themselves so self-important that they sent their flunkies to do what was rightly their job. "What is Hiroto Mitsutomo's rank?"

  "Regrettably, Mitsutomo-sama does not follow the Path."

  Quetzal didn't care for the answer. This was not as it should have been. He was still weak from his awakening, vulnerable. To find that he was here at the mercy of the uninitiated Hiroto Mitsutomo, dependent on the sufferance of an unbeliever, was disturbing. Definitely not as it should be. The situation would have to be changed, soon, but how? To act in ignorance was to fail.

  He noted that those accompanying Nakaguchi wore the long white robes of this age's wise men.

  "I see that you have brought wise men with you. Are they to tell me of this era?"

  Nakaguchi was momentarily confused by the change of subject, but recovered quickly. "They are doctors, not teachers. They are here to observe and to minister to you as necessary. They will monitor your ph
ysical condition during the educational program that I have prepared for you. The technique is strenuous and we are concerned for your health."

  Quetzal was confused by the Asian's speech. Learning had never been strenuous; exciting, perhaps, when he had disagreed with a teacher. Especially when the teacher had been an inferior. "You propose to teach me yourself."

  "I would not so presume, Venerated One."

  "Then you have brought books?"

  "Books would be quite useless until you learned the language. There are very few books in the old tongues and none of them concern current events. We will be using the computer."

  Computer? The word was strange. Was it a ritual spell for learning? "Explain computer."

  "That would take words you lack, Venerated One. Once we have you comfortable with speaking a modern language, we can discuss computers. I think you will find them fascinating."

  They led him to a throne of strange design, padded better than any he had seen; even the arms were padded. At the urg-ings of the doctors, he sat, sinking into the soft cushion. The doctors left to fuss over their machines. Quetzal watched, trying to make sense of their actions. After a moment he felt a prickling sensation wherever he was in contact with the chair. He lifted an arm to see what afflicted him and saw nothing, but the sensation on his arm stopped.

  "Part of the monitoring mechanism," Nakaguchi explained. "A biofeedback system."

  So many strange words. The Asian had been expecting Quetzal's reaction and did not seem to be concerned. Very well. For the moment, Quetzal would also be unconcerned.

  the prickling began again when he lowered his arm, but within a few heartbeats the sensation stopped.

  One of the doctors stepped from behind the throne. He held a helmet in his hands, a shiny thing with a visor and a crest of cords that stretched back behind the throne and out of sight. Another doctor approached him from the other side. This one held a small cylinder in his hand. The doctor lifted the cylinder and sprayed a light mist of wet vapor onto the side of Quetzal's head.

  "Camel spawn!" Quetzal snarled. He raised his hand, ready to summon a wasting spell. The doctor recoiled. Nakaguchi stepped between them.

  "Do not be alarmed, Venerated One. It is merely an electrolyte spray to improve the conductivity for the helmet."

  More strange words. It did not matter whether the watery insult offered improvement or not, he resented the liberty they took. "It is offensive."

  "I apologize, Venerated One, but it is necessary for the computer."

  Quetzal lowered his hand. With a moment to think, he was not sure he could have gathered the energy for the spell anyway. Let them think he was being magnanimous. "I dislike the feel of the water."

  Nakaguchi smirked at Quetzal's failure to remember the strange word for what had been sprayed on him. "The discomfort of the spray is only momentary. There will be interference in the interface without the electrolyte."

  "This is a difficulty?"

  "A significant one, Venerated One."

  "1 shall allow myself to be sprayed."

  He submitted himself to the indignity of the doctor's cylinder of mist. The scent was fruity but not altogether pleasant. There was an underscent of decay which, combined with the coolness the spray brought to his scalp, reminded him of c limbing into the mountains from the steamy jungles below.

  "Will you don the helmet now, Venerated One?"

  "Is it important for your computer?"

  "It is."

  "Very well." Quetzal took the helmet from the doctor, though, and set it upon his head unaided. The visor was solid, with no vision slot. "It blocks my vision."

  "The body's eyesight only, Venerated One. The computer will give you sight much like a vision."

  "This computer knows the mysteries?"

  Nakaguchi chuckled. "The computer knows a different sort of mystery. Are you ready?"

  A different sort of mystery? Quetzal's curiosity was aroused. Like a vision? He nodded permission. "Proceed."

  Nakaguchi said something to the doctors. Without warning, Quetzal's mind expanded, exploding outward. By the worm at the heart of the world! His head was afire! A thousand images assailed his eyes. Sounds filled his ears in near-senseless cacophony while, unbidden, foreign words and concepts occurred to him. What was happening? For a moment he knew fear. Had Nakaguchi betrayed him? Was this what it was like to be possessed? Was there a mind behind this invasion, a will that would overpower his own? He felt assaulted. The speed of the strangeness fired his brain, burning it. He felt the flames eating at his will, threatening to reduce him to cinders. He resisted, forcing control and serenity upon himself.

  The attack abruptly ceased.

  His mind was his own again; the alien presences gone.

  "Are you all right, Venerated One? You cried out."

  "Surprise," he lied. To admit weakness to an inferior was a great folly. "I was merely surprised."

  "You sounded in pain."

  "A misunderstanding on your part." Admission that he had felt pain would be folly, too.

  "I am pleased to hear that, Venerated One. There was some concern as to whether you could handle the input."

  Input. A word for what he had experienced. "It was ... confusing."

  "Then the concern was well founded. Fortunately I ordered a reduced feed. I could have the technicians adjust the input level to a still-slower speed if you would find it more comfortable."

  There was a hidden satisfaction in the Asian's voice, a hint of pleasure at superiority. Quetzal could not afford to demonstrate weakness to this one. "There is so much to learn."

  "Very much," Nakaguchi agreed. "We only wish to help you adjust. You must take our advice and proceed slowly."

  Must? Must! He restrained his outrage with the knowledge that he was still weak. For the moment he needed this worm.

  "Your computer babbles like a fever victim, the important jumbled together with the inconsequential. How could I not find that confusing? Tell me how I may sort through the voices to select the wheat from the chaff."

  "We could confine the feed to specific areas. Build up a selected vocabulary."

  "Do so."

  "It shall be done. What aspect of our age do you wish to study first, Venerated One?"

  A stupid question. "The state of the mysteries."

  Nakaguchi gave orders to the doctors, whom he heard busy (hemselves with their machines. Once again he allowed them to open the way to the computer. He was more confident now. he had experienced what the computer could do; he would deal with it. He would wrestle with it until he mastered it.

  The images and concepts burned once again in his mind, but they came more slowly and in fewer numbers. He had time to meet each one and master it. From the computer he learned the forlorn state of the magical arts in this new age. As foretold, men had forgotten and abandoned the Great Art as the stars had aligned themselves unfavorably and drained the world of its vitality. Being men, they had forgotten most of what had been known, forgotten it so completely that many no longer believed in the power of the Great Art. Of late there had been a change, some shift in the stars, no doubt. [How he longed to see them again in all their cold, knowing glory!] This age was reawakening to the mysteries.

  They knew so little. That too was as it had been foretold. His awakening had come at a fortunate time, perhaps even the most fortunate. [The stars would know; they would tell him when he gazed upon them again.] In these days, when the uninitiated struggled to comprehend what was happening around them, an adept would have a powerful advantage.

  Soon he would walk among men in the robes of power. King he had been, king he would be again. King, and more. How much more depended only upon his will—and had it not sustained him through the long sleep? He would be much more than a mere king!

  The flow of images and sounds stopped. Why? His sight dimmed, returning him to the dark, ordinary world inside the computer's helmet. He tore it from his head to find Nakaguchi leaning over him.

 
"You stopped it," he accused the Asian.

  "Your vital signs were beginning to fluctuate, Venerated One. The doctors thought it best to abort the session. We can begin again once you have had a chance to rest and regain a little strength."

  "Yes, strength. I am hungry."

  "I will have some food prepared for you."

  "Another."

  Nakaguchi nodded in understanding and departed. The fare that the Asian eventually provided was poor, another pitiful castoff, but the rush of strength invigorated Quetzal. He was ready to learn more, but Nakaguchi and the doctors said that tomorrow would be better.

  He let them go without complaint, but he did not abandon his desire. Who were they to dictate when he should follow his will?

  "Joel Lee, show me how to access—that is the right word?—whatever information I desire."

  The slave demonstrated how to control the machines. Quetzal discovered that his control of the machine was partial, but it was enough for now. He gained access to the historical files for Mitsutomo's involvement in the mysteries. As he drank in what the machines laid before him, he began to formulate his strategy.

  He would place himself at the heart of this Charybdis Project, Hiroto Mitsutomo's program to study magic. His skills and knowledge would make him invaluable, indispensable, until he controlled Charybdis. From there, it would be but a small step to controlling Mitsutomo.

  There was one section of his e-mail that Charley Gordon always saved for last: the anonymous transmitters. As usual, most of them were junk. One wasn't.

  >>21.10.09 * 15.01.58.22 * xxxxx.xxx

  log #1009.121

  TO: GordonC@NECPOLNET*0004.03.874334

  FROM:

  RE: Modus 112.

  MESSAGE: Entry. Jane Doe 12 * 45.23 * 211008.4.

  The "Modus" notation told him that the message wasn't exactly anonymous. This message was from a network contact who had adopted Charley. Whoever the guy was, he had a good sense of what was and what wasn't weird—in other words, what was business for the Special Investigations Unit. Twice already this year he'd supplied Charley with data that had helped Charley close an investigation that had been going nowhere. The guy was a regular console detective. Sure he made a lot of intuitive leaps, but more often than not they paid off once Charley had done the legwork to tie the pieces together.