Multireal

by David Louis Edelman

  "Good. Load Possibilities 1.0 on the dock. We're releasing it right now."

  A cyclone of gasps came blustering across the table. Magan Kai Lee's jaw clenched, and Natch could almost hear the grinding of Rey Gonerev's teeth. Jara leaned over and grabbed Merri's arm out of instinct. Natch could feel the Council officers encircling him tense up and give one another looks of confusion.

  "The Meme Cooperative voted to yank our licenses," said Natch. "But that notice says it doesn't take effect until January third."

  "That's today," protested Horvil.

  "Here it is. At the Meme Cooperative's offices in Melbourne, it is. But on the orbital colony of Patronell, at the headquarters of the Meme Cooperative, it's still January second, isn't it? It won't be the third for another"-Natch squinted his eyes and consulted the time-"two and a half hours. Which means I'm still the master of the fiefcorp until then. And I say we're releasing MultiReal now."

  "But-"

  "Merri, get ahold of Robby Robby. Use an emergency protocol if you have to. I'll bet he can sell at least a few hundred thousand copies of Possibilities in two hours."

  Magan, Gonerev, and Ridgello appeared to be having a furious exchange over Confidential Whisper, punctuated by arching eyebrows and flaring nostrils. Seconds later, the Blade's right arm shot up in the air. "Radium!" she shouted, and a dozen dartguns snapped into Council hands in unison.

  Ben let out a high-pitched wheeze. "Natch, we haven't run Possibilities through Dr. Plugenpatch yet. What-what if it doesn't work?"

  "It worked just fine at that soccer stadium the other day."

  "But my mother's assembly-line floor ... The rollback ..."

  Natch laughed with a serenity he hadn't felt in weeks. "Running it through the Plugenpatch system won't do any good," he said. "There isn't a validator out there that knows how to deal with a program as radical as MultiReal. And don't worry about the rollback right now. They haven't had enough time to do any significant damage. The cus- tomers'll just have to take their chances. But just in case ... Benyamin, you've got sixty seconds. Write me a quick disclaimer that basically says `Buyer Beware."'

  "Launch that program," rasped Magan, "and it'll be the last thing you do." He was now completely thrown off his script and improvising wildly.

  Natch ignored him, just as he ignored the ten Council officers who rushed into formation around his chair and bull's-eyed him with the barrels of their rifles. Merri was rubbing her knees and rocking back and forth, deeply entrenched in ConfidentialWhisper with Robby Robby. Vigal had one trembling hand raised as if waiting for a proctor to call on him, and Jara was simply dead to the world.

  "Okay, Horv," said Natch, "I've put a fore and an aft on the Possibilities program. Version set at 1.0. Ben, got that disclaimer?"

  Benyamin looked as serious as a scorpion. "Yeah, I found a good one in Billy Sterno's catalog. Should I-"

  "Just throw it in the fore table. Horv, get ready to launch the program onto the Data Sea on my signal." Horvil sputtered something multisyllabic and unintelligible. "Well? What?" snapped Natch.

  "Price?" whimpered the engineer.

  "Eighty thousand Vault credits," said Natch without hesitation, choosing the first round number that floated into his head. "Unlimited choice cycles."

  Merri slumped to the table like a discarded puppet. Eighty thou sand was a gargantuan number, far beyond the reach of the average Data Sea pedestrian. It wasn't the highest price tag a bio/logic program had ever earned, but it certainly came close. "Robby wants to know who's going to buy it at that price," said the channel manager weakly.

  Natch's grin broadened. "Everyone who can possibly get their hands on eighty thousand Vault credits. Lunar tycoons, L-PRACGs, creeds, capitalmen, you name it. Make sure Robby spreads the word that the Meme Cooperative is cutting off sales in two hours. Once people realize this might be their only chance to get a taste of MultiReal, they'll spare no expense. Trust me, by the time dawn arrives on Patronell, people'll be stacking multiple realities up like bricks. And we'll all be so rich that we won't care what happens next."

  The door burst open, and a dozen more white-robed officers swooped into the SeeNaRee with dartguns primed and ready. But they bypassed Natch altogether and headed straight for Serr Vigal. The neural programmer yelped and tumbled off his chair, finally ducking behind Horvil, who didn't exactly make inconspicuous cover. Above them, the clouds had conquered the azure sky and looked ready to rain down the fury of the gods.

  "Y-you can't release that program," stammered the chief solicitor. "The Prime Committee gave the Council the authority to shut down any program on the Data Sea, just last month."

  "Shut down?" said Natch. "Fine. Shut it down. Have you even used that authority yet? You have procedures in place for this? Think you can figure them out and cut through all the red tape in the next"-he consulted the time-"two hours and eighteen minutes?" It was a bluff, but it seemed to work. Was that actually fear in Rey Gonerev's eyes?

  Benyamin started to say something, then stopped. Horvil stared down the guards and puffed up his chest with sudden bravado. Merri had gotten up from her chair and was backing toward the edge of the stone slab as if she might make a break for it. Magan Kai Lee's eyes were spotlights.

  Natch raised a hand. "Everybody ready?"

  Just at that moment, an improbably tall and gangly figure came rushing through the door, white robe flapping in the mountain gale. His eyes were saturated with sheer panic, but it wasn't a panic that concerned the fiefcorp master or MultiReal. The man bolted straight for Magan Kai Lee, grabbed his sleeve, and blasted some silent message in the lieutenant executive's face.

  Seconds later, the dartguns of the Council officers dropped. A few rifles clattered noisily to the stone.

  Without a word or a glance Natchward, Magan Kai Lee arose and made for the door, his face coated with some military flavor of a PokerFace program. He made a quick gesture with his right hand, causing the soldiers to abandon their aggressive positions around the fiefcorp. Ridgello and his officers formed a tight cordon around the lieutenant executive, and they all marched hurriedly out of the SeeNaRee.

  Rey Gonerev was the last to leave. Natch leapt up from his seat and grabbed her shoulder. "Give me one reason I shouldn't launch MultiReal right now," he said.

  The Blade's expression was distant, disconcerted. "Because," she said. "Margaret Surina is dead."

  17

  Natch had never seen a team shift tracks as quickly as the Defense and Wellness Council. A moment ago, the fiefcorpers had been surrounded by armed stormtroopers wearing the white robe and yellow star; now they were alone in the precipitous mountain SeeNaRee. Even the clouds had abandoned them.

  Margaret Surina dead? Last month, Natch would have wondered how any assassin could possibly get to the top of that tower with all those guards around. But he had seen the condition of the Surina security forces not twelve hours ago. Penetrating that protective shell of troops around the Revelation Spire wasn't such a daunting task-especially if one had inside help.

  Still, if someone could get to the bodhisattva of Creed Surina that easily, why didn't they come after Natch first?

  Natch looked around the SeeNaRee and took in the stunned expressions flitting across the brows of his apprentices. Any thought of MultiReal and fiefcorp licenses had vanished from their faces. Natch didn't know whether to feel relieved to be free of the Council or frightened to be without their protection. What he wanted more than anything was to retreat home, or to Omaha, or to the redwoods. Safe places.

  And then his thoughts came circling back to Andra Pradesh. Margaret, lying dead at the top of a heavily fortified building, surrounded by a large private security force. There were no safe places anymore.

  "I'm going over there," he announced, rebelling against impulse.

  A skeptical pause from the fiefcorp. "Where?" said Jara. It was the first word she had spoken since her abrupt curse when Natch arrived.

  "Andra Pradesh," said Natch. "To find Que
ll. Find out what's going on."

  "Are we sure there is anything going on?" said Serr Vigal. Everyone looked at him. "I mean, do we know Margaret's death was foul play?"

  Jara snorted. "What do you think it was-'natural causes'?"

  Horvil suddenly dashed over and gripped Natch by the elbow. "You can't go," he protested. "What if it's a trap? What if-what if the people who killed Margaret are still there?"

  "Horvil's right," said Benyamin. He folded his arms across his chest. "How do we know the Blade was even telling the truth? Sounds like a perfect setup. Get everyone in a panic, lure you to Andra Pradesh, and then-"

  Merri shook her head, despondent. "The bodhisattva of Creed Objectivv just issued a statement offering his condolences. Rey Gonerev wasn't lying." The channel manager stopped and parsed her thoughts carefully. "Well, she wasn't lying about that, at least."

  The entrepreneur noticed that none of the fiefcorpers suspected Magan Kai Lee had dreamt this up on the spur of the moment, to prevent the release of MultiReal. But on further reflection, Natch realized that it didn't matter. Whether Margaret Surina was really dead or not, the news would completely overshadow everything else on the Data Sea within seconds. No amount of sales wizardry on Robby Robby's part would entice people to buy Possibilities in the next two hours.

  "All right," said Natch. "Where's the closest multi facility?"

  The multi gateway at the Surina compound was closed. The network dumped him at a public terminal a kilometer away instead. Natch hiked the rest of the way through the city, studying the compound on the mountain the whole time for any signs of violence. He saw none, although he did see a number of egg-white Council hoverbirds touching down. As for the citizens of Andra Pradesh, word of Margaret's death had obviously not reached them yet.

  When he reached the iron gates at the base of the hill, Natch was surprised to find them already guarded by troops in white, not blue and green. A crowd of curious onlookers began to coalesce across the street. What if they don't let me in? Natch asked himself.

  The Council officers gave the fiefcorp master a long, probing look, and then let him in. With an armed escort.

  Natch couldn't remember if he had ever seen the Surina courtyard empty. Even in the early-morning hours, after the Center for Historic Appreciation shut its doors and Gandhi University wrapped up its academic semester, there were always people wandering around. Fiefcorpers liked to lounge here between midnight meetings in the Enterprise Facility, and there was always a pair of lovers or some forlorn poet staring reverently up at the Spire.

  Now the only feet treading on the mountaintop belonged to Natch and his two Council escorts. The men were shaky and silent as junkies as they led the way to some unannounced destination; Natch could only hope they were going to the scene of the crime. What happened to Surina security? he wondered.

  At that moment, as if responding to Natch's thoughts, the doors to the auditorium burst open and a gang of Surina officers came sprinting their way.

  They were moving too quickly and chaotically for Natch to count, but he figured the number to be about twenty. Some of the Surina troops threw apprehensive looks over their shoulders, as if expecting an imminent pursuit. At the front of the blue-green wedge was a familiar figure.

  Quell.

  The Islander came to a halt mere centimeters from the Councilman on Natch's left. The man gulped audibly as he took in Quell's bulging chest and untamed ponytail. "We'll take those guns," declared the Islander, his voice gravel.

  The Council lackey shot a glance at his compatriot. They exchanged grim frowns of courage. "I'm sorry, Islander," he said. "We're not allowed to do that."

  Quell made no signal to the crowd of security officers gathered behind him; nevertheless, their dartguns all leapt into their hands simultaneously. The Islander slowly unsheathed a metal bar of the darkest obsidian from his belt, a long nightstick sizzling with bottled lightning. "I said we're taking those guns."

  The Council officers winced, and Natch did too. He had heard plenty of stories about Islander shock batons. A crack on the skull with one of those things could splatter the guards' brains all over the travertine, OCHREs or no OCHREs.

  The men in white robes handed over their weapons.

  "What's happening?" asked Natch as he trotted across the courtyard, trying to keep up with Quell's massive strides.

  "I don't know," grunted the Islander. "The Council swooped in. Caught us all off guard. They started herding everyone into the auditorium like fucking sheep." He glanced behind him at Borda's lackeys, who were being muscled toward the Center for Historic Appreciation by a subset of the blue-and-green troops. "Jayze Surina just waved the Council in."

  "What about-"

  Quell cut him off with a snarl. "I said I don't know. But we're going to find out." Natch noticed that he had not sheathed his shock baton, opting to curl it like a barbell instead. That stick had to be pretty heavy to strain Quell's massive biceps.

  Surina security officers began to trickle out the side doors of the auditorium and join the small group marching on the Revelation Spire. So far there was no sign of any Council reinforcements, but Natch knew it was only a matter of time. He could feel adrenaline spiking his veins and started to reach for a bio/logic tranquilizer, then decided to let his body chemistry handle itself.

  The Surina troops flattened themselves against the base of the Spire and hid in shadow. Quell crept up to the double doors, then cracked them open and lobbed something into the atrium, grenade-style. There was a dull fwump. The Islander counted to three under his breath and then pushed inside, yanking Natch through the doors with him.

  Natch saw white-robed figures lying all over the floor, hands clutched to their faces. A few were actually mewling in pain like puppies. It wasn't as large a contingent of Council officers as Natch had expected, but still more than enough to hold up the party of Surina troops until backup arrived. An egg-shaped device was rolling on the floor, not too far from the marble statue of Marcus Surina. The thing was burning heat circles in Natch's vision even now during its cooling cycle.

  "Did you blind them?" cried the entrepreneur incredulously. He glanced at the pockets of Quell's jacket, wondering what other thaumaturgic surprises the Islander had stowed away there.

  "For about ten more seconds," said Quell. "Hurry."

  They weren't heading for the staircase Natch had ascended the other day. Instead, Quell was making for an inconspicuous side door behind one of the museum exhibits. THE AUTONOMOUS MINDS AND THEIR KEEPERS, read the holographic sign hovering over a group of mannequins in paisley uniforms. The nearby Council officers were just beginning to claw the floor for their dart-rifles when Quell, Natch, and a dozen other officers streaked through the side door and barricaded it behind them.

  A narrow staircase, awash in the red glow of emergency lighting. Another door, invisible to the naked eye, that glided open at the touch of Quell's hand. A lift large enough to fit fourteen.

  Nobody said a word during the long, drab climb up the interior of the spike. This clandestine elevator car didn't offer an interior view of the Spire's scaffolding like the one Natch had ridden the other day, so there was nothing to see but shuddering wall. Instead he watched the Surina officers slide new canisters of black code darts into their guns. Quell had chosen his crew well. These were hardened professionals, seemingly unafraid of a dustup with the Defense and Wellness Council.

  What if this is all just an elaborate ruse to get me alone? thought Natch. What if Magan Kai Lee is preparing to do me in here, away from the rest of the fiefcoa p?

  The elevator slipped into its berth at the top of the shaft. Quell was snorting like an angry bull. The doors opened.

  Natch had no idea what a real murder scene looked like. The entire concept belonged in the realm of things only seen on viewscreens. He half expected to see overturned furniture or shattered glass or copious amounts of blood, but nothing of the kind was in evidence. The room looked exactly as it had less than a day a
go. The same elegantly cushioned seating bookended by priceless sculpture; the same windows letting in the glum cumulus of the Indian sky; the Venus de Milo.

  Magan Kai Lee and several of his officers were there, along with a number of unarmed officials from different government agencies. They displayed no hint of surprise at seeing Quell and the rest of his party, and despite being outnumbered, Magan's face showed total unconcern. The tall, awkward officer who had interrupted them at the Kordez Thassel Complex was sniffing at the furniture like a bloodhound. A distraught woman in a serving uniform was being questioned at the far end of the room; Natch could only assume she was the one who had discovered the body. There was no sign of Rey Gonerev or Ridgello, or of Len Borda for that matter.

  Quell stepped forward. His eyes blazed hot crazy. "You had no business forcing us into the auditorium like that," he said through gritted teeth.

  One Council officer gave an inquiring look in Magan's direction and made the slightest of gestures toward his well-stocked rifle. The diminutive lieutenant shook his head. "I'm sorry," said Magan, though his face exhibited no such emotion. "We had to make sure the people who did this weren't still up here."

  "What did you do with-?" Quell didn't finish his sentence. His jaw rocked back and forth uncontrollably as he caught sight of the desk across the room and the inert figure slumped in a chair before it.

  Margaret Surina.

  The Islander bounded to her on unsteady legs, letting his shock baton drag on the floor in the process. He slumped to his knees and buried his face in the dead woman's tunic. The bodhisattva's shoulder muffled his sobs.

  Natch sidled toward the window and found an unobtrusive spot where he could observe the body. There was no sign of violence that Natch could see. It looked to him like Margaret had just slumped over in place with no provocation. Her luminous eyes of opal blue were still open and staring back as if across an unimaginably vast distance.