"I can't participate in this," said Frejohr after several moments of silence. "I won't see Margaret Surina's funeral turned into a circus. I stand by what I said earlier. You need to release the MultiReal code on the Data Sea, Natch-every last gigabyte. That's the only way."
Natch gave them all a wry smile, then shut down the MindSpace bubble. He grabbed a bio/logic programming bar from the side table and began tossing it up and down nonchalantly. "Well, it's too late," he said. "The memo's already out there."
Another poisonous silence. "What do you mean?" whispered the labor leader.
"I mean I sent it to the drudges about two hours ago, shortly before you all arrived. But wait-I wouldn't be in too much of a hurry to cut your multi connections. The drudges know you're here. In fact, they think you've gathered here to discuss how to respond to this memo."
"And why do they think that?" thundered Frejohr indignantly, looking as if he might throw something.
"Well, I told them, obviously," replied Natch, matter-of-fact. He flipped the programming bar in the air and let it make a full three rotations before catching it again. "I'm sure they've noticed all those Congressional security officers hanging around outside anyway."
The labor leader stepped forward and planted his clenched fists on the workbench with a thump, but Natch did not flinch. "So what happens when someone finds out this memo is a fake?"
"Oh, someone will figure it out eventually, and the Council will probably shut the program down for good. But by then, it'll be too late. I'll already have had my day in front of the Prime Committee. And don't worry, no one'll be able to trace it here. I'm positive of that."
"And if they do?"
The entrepreneur shrugged and plopped into the chair next to the side table where Horvil usually resided. "Then tell them the truth. Hang me out to dry, it won't matter. The memo's not signed, it's not attributed to any particular person on the Council, and I'm not the one that's trumpeting it to the skies. What would I be guilty of? Nasty rumors? Conducting a thought experiment?" He grinned. "They can add that infraction to the hundred and twenty I've already got."
Natch could practically see the turbines whirring inside their minds. The politicos would have to make a choice when they cut their multi connections and stopped priving themselves to the world: to go along with the ruse or to deny it. If they intended to deny it, then the clock was ticking. Every minute elapsed was another minute they would have to explain away. Besides which, revealing the nature of the plan was tantamount to revealing that they had been duped. In the hard-knuckle world of libertarian politics, such an admission could be highly damaging.
And what was the alternative? Natch had already made it perfectly clear he didn't expect anyone to confirm the memo's authenticity-in fact, he expected them to do the exact opposite, to cast doubt, to stir up suspicion. They would reap the benefits in the end without taking much of the risk. Wasn't that the easier course?
Khann Frejohr was clearly incensed. He had not moved from the window, preferring to glare outside with palpable rage on his face. He had come to this apartment to strong-arm Natch into releasing the MultiReal specs on the Data Sea. Instead, he was being strong-armed into convincing the Prime Committee to put their foot down.
"Listen," Natch told the speaker. "You've got to understand. What you're suggesting-releasing the MultiReal code on the Data Sea-it wouldn't work."
"And why not?" growled Frejohr.
"Let's say I do what you're asking. Let's say I release the technical specs to MultiReal on the Data Sea. Don't you think the Council is going to be waiting right there with a thousand engineers to weaponize it? Two hours after I release those specs, Len Borda or Magan Kai Lee will be back with ten thousand troops that you won't be able to run away from. Do you really think you can out-engineer the Council? No, I'm sorry, Khann. The Council can't get hold of those technical specs. They can't ever get hold of them. MultiReal has to stay in private hands."
The libertarians shuffled back into the living room and began holding quiet discussions about how to respond to the inevitable drudge onslaught. Natch obliged them by plastering the memo on the windows to analyze. They were muttering to themselves, dissatisfied but willing to make do. After all, they were getting what they wanted-confrontation with the Defense and Wellness Council on a level playing field. All that was required was a little bit of clever dissembling to the drudges, and nobody would be the wiser. Natch knew they would see things his way eventually. Already he could hear one of the tycoons saying that Len Borda probably did have a memo just like this one in his files anyway.
Khann Frejohr took Natch aside, back into the office. "So let's say you get the Prime Committee to intervene and call a special sessionwhat then?" said the speaker bitterly. "You think you can persuade them to overrule Len Borda? He's had the Committee in his pocket for twenty years."
"I don't know. One step at a time."
"And what happens if they overrule you instead? What if after all this they decide to seize MultiReal and put it in the Council's hands anyway? What then?"
Natch frowned and stared intently at the space where the black code had been floating just moments earlier. "Then I'll make them vote my way," he said. "I've got MultiReal, remember?"
26
Jara surveyed the list of the fiefcorp's high-priority issues. She had inscribed each item on a virtual block and used the blocks to form a giant skeletal structure on Berilla's couch. It looked disconcertingly like a vulture.
The analyst reached out and caressed a block near the vulture's feet. RETURN HOME, it read.
I'm tired of this fucking room, she thought, casting spiteful glances at the rococo furniture in the study. I'm tired of Berilla. I'm tired of hanging out in the hallways with all the servants staring at us. She tuned the window to the front gates and the small pack of drudges still holding camp there. Just keep Len Borda out of here until Margaret's funeral, she thought. Just two more days. And then we can all go home. She pinched the corner of the block between her index finger and thumb, then dragged it down to the base of the structure, upgrading it to priority one. The remaining blocks silently cascaded into new positions.
Jara arose from the couch and forced herself to make one more trip to the great room. Nobody in the fiefcorp was quite ready to abandon ship-not yet-but the failed press conference had certainly sprung new leaks in their confidence. Merri was going out of her way to avoid everyone; Benyamin's glower could be sensed from rooms away; Horvil seemed more distant and distractible than ever; and Serr Vigal was reduced to drifting about like an empty bottle on a windless sea.
Horvil was the only one in the great room. He was idling on a sofa, reading Primo's reports with programming bar in hand. Jara suddenly realized that she had never thought to ask where everyone else had been camping these past few nights. Horvil and Ben already had rooms in the estate, of course, but what about Merri and Vigal? She supposed they must have claimed a spare nook somewhere.
"So how bad is it?" Jara asked, settling on the chair with the fleurde-lis motif carved into its back. "Where are we on Primo's?"
Horvil let his eyebrows float slowly northward. "Last time I checked? Two hundred thirty-something."
"Two hundred thirty-!" Jara couldn't even finish her exclamation.
"Primo's moves fast," said the engineer, his face displaying total unconcern. "We haven't launched anything since ... since ... well, I don't know when. Back before we took on MultiReal, I guess. The surprising thing is that we still rank at all. We sold all the products that got us to number one. So we should be off the charts altogether." He twirled his programming bar in the air like a majorette and whistled.
Jara took a minute to study the engineer. Horvil was persevering under exceedingly difficult conditions, and he was doing it with a smile on his face. If anything, he seemed more grounded now than before this whole MultiReal crisis started. Who else could claim that? Certainly not Natch. Certainly not Jara.
"So what are the other fief
corps up to?" said Jara after a moment.
"Well, you know Pierre Loget and Billy Sterno have gone AWOL, and the Patels aren't paying much attention to the ratings either. Counting Natch, that makes four of the Primo's top ten suddenly gone. People are sensing this is the time to make a move. It's a land grab out there."
"Loget and Sterno ... where are they?"
Horvil threw his hands up high, almost sending his programming bar into the ceiling. "Ridglee thinks they're on Patronell. Or Allowell. Can't remember which."
"Well, that's Ridglee. He probably thinks we're on Allowell. I wonder what they're up to."
Benyamin happened to be returning from the kitchen at that moment, sandwich in hand. "It doesn't really matter what those guys are up to," he said. "The question is, what's Natch up to?"
Jara nodded. It was the big variable in her calculations, the unknown that could torpedo all her plans. They could be performing miracles here in London, but that would all come to naught if Natch was working at cross-purposes--or, perfection postponed, actually sabotaging them. Robby Robby had promised to alert the fiefcorpers if he heard anything, and Horvil had put some feelers out to his engineering contacts. So far, nothing. The best they could tell, the entrepreneur remained sequestered at his Shenandoah apartment, accessing MultiReal from time to time but not modifying it.
Jara knew this charade could only last so long. Already Robby was growing suspicious, and the drudges were making progressively wilder accusations. Pretending that the fiefcorp was still working together in harmony undermined Jara's whole effort to remake the company's image. Sooner or later, they would have to admit publicly that Natch had abandoned the fiefcorp, and they would have to concoct some plausible story to explain it.
Ben took an angry bite of his sandwich and ground it to a pulp with his molars. "Do you think we should ... cut Natch off from the MultiReal databases?"
Horvil gave his cousin a stunned look. "What would that accomplish?"
"It would keep him from doing something irretrievably stupid, that's what."
"I'm not sure you appreciate-"
Jara cut him off. "It's a moot point," she said. "I've already tried."
Horvil simply stared at her.
The analyst sighed and kicked at a scrunched-up section of the Persian rug caused by shifting furniture. "Don't give me that look, Horv-I just wanted to see if we could lock him out. Turns out we can't. The Data Sea says he shouldn't be able to access the program, but he's getting in there anyway. I even tried moving the MultiReal databases to another location. Remember Horvil's calculation? The chances of him finding those databases are practically nil-but it's not even slowing him down. There's no explanation for it that I can think of."
Horvil grimaced. "I think I know the explanation."
"What?" said Jara, eyebrows arched.
The engineer explained to them about the rogue MultiReal code lurking in Natch's neural system and Natch's futile attempts to remove it. "That must be what the code is," he continued. "A back door. A way of tying him to the databases and circumnavigating the standard Data Sea access controls."
"How's that even possible?" objected Benyamin through bits of lettuce and cheese.
"Well, who created MultiReal?"
"Margaret Surina."
"And who invented the Data Sea access controls?"
"Sheldon Surina. Or maybe it was Prengal. One of the Surinas, at any rate."
Horvil extended an empty hand into the air as if to say, Case closed.
The question of what Natch was doing haunted Jara the rest of the day and into the night. Had Natch managed to get his meeting with Khann Frejohr? Was Natch cooking up some ruinous plan that would destroy everything Jara was fighting for? He had already duped her too many times to count. Despite everything she knew about Natch, she had actually believed he had made a sacrifice by handing her core access to MultiReal. He must have known already that it would make little difference. What other deceptions did he have in store?
Anchored by doubt, Jara couldn't seem to launch herself in motion. Meanwhile, the fiefcorpers spent hours drifting through the estate, conducting aimless MultiReal experiments that had little bearing on their business. That night, Natch visited Jara's dreams and did a slow striptease for her, only to reveal the smooth, sexless torso of a marionette underneath his clothes.
You can't keep this up, thought Jara. Go ahead and do something, for fuck's sake.
So Jara yanked herself out of bed the next morning at an indus trious hour when the sun was just a faint red smudge in the east. She fetched a bracing cup of nitro, sat back in her makeshift desk, and spent an hour absorbing the drudge vibes from Sor, Ridglee, and Vertiginous. Something resembling the old electricity began to spark in her fingertips. By the time Vigal came tottering past the door in search of his morning tea, the analyst had already hurled a score of messages onto the Data Sea and made half a dozen appointments.
Jara sat back and allowed herself a slight smile. The anonymous ancient Britons on the wall regarded her with approval from beneath their ridiculous epaulets and brass buttons. She stared back at them, wondering who they were.
Only one more day until Margaret's funeral, Jara thought. After that, those drudges will be gone, and Magan Kai Lee will be here looking for answers. This fiefcorp has got to be ready.
The purple bottle had finger-sized grooves that would have been more at home on the grip of a dartgun than on a commercial beverage sold at sporting events.
"Go ahead, squeeze it," said Petrucio Patel with a mild grin.
Jara eyed the container skeptically as if it might jump up and bite her. She squeezed, causing the bottle to give way under pressure and coagulate into the jagged lightning-bolt symbol of ChaiQuoke. The cloudy liquid inside bubbled like molten lava.
"Not just flexible glass," said Petrucio. "Ultra flexible glass. Finally cheap enough to mass produce. Pretty impressive, eh?"
Jara managed a half-smile. "Sure, I guess."
"I tell you, we could all learn a thing or two from those ChaiQuoke marketing people," said the programmer. He took the bottle from Jara's hand and began enthusiastically molding it into a variety of obscure and occasionally obscene shapes. "They really know how to invigorate a brand identity over there. Xi Xong got a look at their new spring campaign and it's just brilliant, brilliant."
The analyst nodded, wondering how long she could keep up this pantomime of politeness before she grabbed the ChaiQuoke bottle and started bludgeoning Petrucio over the head with it. Here in this meeting space within the bowels of the Kordez Thassel Complex, she couldn't distract herself with the surroundings either. The curved chrome walls and semireflective table might have been designed by some government task force for unimaginative SeeNaRee. Jara found herself casting sympathetic side glances at the boorish Frederic Patel, who seemed just as exasperated with his brother's prattling but was nowhere near as proficient at hiding it.
"So I suppose you're wondering why we're sitting here," said Jara finally, when Petrucio's shtick had lurched to a halt.
The Patel brothers gave each other opaque looks across the table. "Of course," said Petrucio. "But I'm not sure I really want to know, to tell the truth."
"Funny you should mention truth," said Jara, inhaling deeply. "It's truth that brings me out here. Fairness. Justice."
Petrucio rolled his eyes. "So I guess Natch told you that I pledged to Creed Objectivv," he said, seeming irritated but not particularly surprised. "I didn't really want everybody from here to Furtoid to know about it."
Jara leaned forward and placed her hands on the table, palms down. "The Defense and Wellness Council is trying to destroy our business, 'Trucio. They're going around intimidating our friends and business partners. We need to take a stand against this. We all doeveryone in the bio/logics industry. We need to show Len Borda and Magan Kai Lee that they can't just get away with this."
Frederic chewed his nails apathetically. Petrucio's face had dissolved back into the normal vac
ant smile. "And how do `we all' do that?" said Petrucio.
"You can do your part," said Jara, shoring up her foundering courage as best she could, "by testifying to the Creeds Coalition on Merri's behalf. Help her get reinstated as an Objectivv and clear up this nonsense about her pledging under false pretenses. I don't know what lies the Blade has been spreading around, but-"
"Please, Jara. Please." The elder Patel vented his frustration with a vigorous tug of his mustache. "Stop mangling the creed philosophy. It's just painful. You're almost as bad as him." He indicated the portly Frederic with a hitch of his thumb, causing Frederic to erupt into a toothy grin. "The Bodhisattva's definition of truth has nothing to do with fairness or justice. They're entirely different concepts. The Bodhisattva said that truth is as heavy as a club and as sharp as a knife. I pledged to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean I have to go around spreading peace and love. I'm under no obligation to spread truths that negatively impact my business."
"But we're talking about another Objectivv devotee here," protested Jara. "It doesn't bother you that she's been suspended from the creed because of a lie?"
Petrucio shook his head. "I don't care for Merri. She's too pious. It gets irritating after a while."
Jara removed her hands from the table, sat back, and rubbed her haunches. Her raised eyebrows asked the question So what does that have to do with anything?
Frederic was thumping his fingers on the tabletop, a mad pianist practicing scales in a discordant key. "Don't forget, there's two Patels in this fiefcorp," he said. "Maybe Merri's suspension from the creed works to our advantage. Maybe we like seeing your company go under. Ever think of that?"
"In the short term, sure," replied Jara without missing a beat. "For the next few months, you'll have all the momentum. But come on, follow the logic, Frederic. You don't have to be clairvoyant to see what happens if the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp goes under. Len Borda will sic the Meme Cooperative on you too."
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