Part 13 (1/2)

”You want to crash out?” she asked. ”Use the bed in the other room.”

He nodded, then asked hesitantly, ”Is there anything to eat?”

She glanced over at Modal. ”Why don't you call room service?” she suggested. ”Get some food up here for all of us. I've got to make a call.”

She could see that Modal wanted to argue-he obviously still thought the kid was a liability-but he held his tongue. She shrugged. As the elf had said, keeping the kid with them was her mistake to make. Despite his misgivings he was going along with her.

She sat down on the bed of room 1203, keyed in Agarwal's LTG number.

”Have you seen the news?” was the ex-decker's first question when he answered the phone and saw who it was.

”Not really.” Modal had turned on the radio in the stolen car, but Sly hadn't really given the news report much attention. She wracked her brain, trying to remember what the significant stories had been. Gang clashes, random street violence . . . But what had Argent said? The gangs weren 't involved, and the violence was neither random nor unmotivated. She felt cold. ”It's starting, isn't it?” she asked Agarwal.

Agarwal didn't answer her question directly, but his serious expression was communication enough. ”As of about five minutes ago,” he said quietly, ”there have been no more reports of anything that could be corporate violence in the news media. And any descriptions of such events in the current affairs databases were erased. What does that tell you, Sharon?”

A lot. Fear twisted within her, but she forced a chuckle. ”I guess it doesn't mean it's all over, huh?”

”What it tells me,” Agarwal went on, as though she hadn't spoken, ”is that the metroplex government- possibly backed by the federal bureaucracy-has issued a 'D Notice', an official gag order. Add to that the fact that just before your call, a voice-only announcement from Governor Schultz was broadcast on all trid and radio channels, and posted in all datafaxes and news-bases.” He snorted. ”At five to five in the morning, I a.s.sume the voice was synthesized. The ill.u.s.trious governor is rarely known to rise before ten.”

”What did Schultz say?” Sly asked.

”That all of the untoward gang and street violence has come to an end,” Agarwal said bleakly. ”That the government has stepped in. That everything is back to normal, and that no citizen of the metroplex should fear for his or her safety.” He snorted again. ”As if the government could guarantee that in a corporate war.” He shook his head. ”All members of government are liars. They are consummate liars, they lie continuously. They know that we know that they lie, but they lie just the same. And then they talk about their honor.”

The ex-decker chuckled wryly. ”Forgive me my political digressions.” He sighed. ”I blush to inform you I have yet to break the file completely.”

”I don't know that it matters so much anymore,” she admitted. ”You were right, it's lost tech. And now I know exactly what.” As efficiently as possible, she briefed him on what Falcon had told her.

When she was finished, Agarwal looked pale, shaken. ”So the Concord of Zurich-Orbital is about to collapse?”

She shrugged. ”It didn't seem to do much good,” she said. ”Yamatetsu was still working counter to it, and I guess the rest of the corps were too.”

”Yes, yes,” Agarwal brushed that off. ”But there is more to the Concord than just the matter of fiber optics, Sharon. Much more. It is perhaps the most wide-ranging agreement the megacorporations have ever entered into with each other.

”The Concord has provisions covering most facets of communications technology,” he went on. ”You know that most of the zaibatsus have their own satellites, communication and otherwise? Well, many of those satellites are thought to have sophisticated jamming circuits, or even anti-satellite-ASAT-capability, to destroy the communication a.s.sets of a compet.i.tor. Similarly, many megacorporations still carry out research into 'core wars'-which, as I mentioned to you earlier, is viral warfare against a compet.i.tor's computer systems.

”Of course, if any corporation were to use any of these capabilities-jamming, ASAT, or viral-there would be reprisals. Followed by counter-reprisals, followed by escalation. Followed by a level of-shall we say-'digital bloodletting' that no corporation would wish to even contemplate.

”That is the importance of the Concord, Sharon,” Agarwal concluded, ”to prevent that. And it has worked, for more than twenty years. In 2041, an Atlanta-based corporation called Lanrie-a small player, its influence limited to the Confederated American States-infected a compet.i.tor in Miami with a tailored computer virus. Somehow the major zaibatsus found out about it. Under the terms of the Concord of Zurich-Orbital, and with the sanction of the Corporate Court, the megacorporations totally destroyed Lanrie. Shattered its financial structure. Destroyed its facilities and a.s.sets. Executed its Board of Directors. All as an object lesson. Since then n.o.body has actually practiced viral warfare.”

Sly was shaken to the core. Her skin felt as cold as if an icy draft were blowing through the room. ”And the corps are ready to break the Concord?”

Agarwal nodded. ”The Corporate Court is trying to call them back,” he explained, ”like hunting dogs to heel. To remind them of the Concord, no doubt, and its importance. But-as I told you the last time we talked- the zaibatsus are ignoring the Court's edicts. The potential benefits of the prize-the lost technology-outweigh the potential dangers of breaking the Concord. Or so the megacorporations see it.”

She thought it through for a few moments. ”Have they crossed the line yet?” she asked. ”Has anybody pa.s.sed the point of no return?”

”Not yet. But all are perilously close to the line. The situation is more unstable than ever before.”

”Can it be stabilized again?”

”Up to the point that one megacorporation makes a substantive, direct attack against significant a.s.sets of another,” Agarwal p.r.o.nounced, ”yes.”

”How?”

He fixed her with his tired eyes. ”If we a.s.sume that the corporations remain on the precipice, and don't go over before you can act,” he said slowly, ”I think it all rests in your hands. In how you deal with the information you hold.

”The way I see it,” he continued, ”you have two choices. The first is to destroy the information.”

That suggestion wasn't new; she'd already considered it and discarded it. ”It won't work,” she told Agarwal. ”n.o.body would believe I'd destroyed it.”

”As you say,” he agreed.

”And the second choice?”

”If you can't make sure that n.o.body gets the information,” he said, ”then make sure everybody gets it. Disseminate it, publicize it, so that every megacorporation has equal access to the information. The only answer is to keep the playing field level and to make sure everyone knows it's level. When one corporation, or faction of corporations, has an advantage-or is thought to have an advantage-then things are unstable. Do you understand, Sharon?”

She nodded slowly. In concept, it made perfect sense, it was simple. But . . . ”How?” she demanded.

He spread his hands eloquently. Search me .. .

”And what if I don't manage it?”

”Corporate war,” Agarwal stated positively. ”The collapse of the world's economy within a few days of its start. The first food riots probably wouldn't occur for at least a week. The big question is whether civilian governments would have time to launch military action before they collapsed. I think any nuclear exchange would probably be quite limited. ...”

He kept talking, but Sly had stopped listening.

What the frag am I going to do? she asked herself again and again.

14.

0515 hours, November 14, 2053 Falcon ate like a starving man, which was exactly what he was. The woman, Sly, had said to get enough food to feed them all. The black elf-Modal, Falcon thought his name was-had gone a little overboard. Three burgers- real beef, not soy filler-pasta salad, bread, cheese, salad . . . more food for the three of them than Falcon would have picked out for six of his gang chummers. He scoped out the hotel room. Of course, anybody who could afford this kind of doss wasn't going to skimp on food.

No skin off my b.u.t.t anyway, he thought, and no cred off my stick. With that established, he set to with a will.

By the time he'd polished off a burger, two cheese sandwiches, an apple, and some strange star-shaped fruit he didn't recognize, Falcon was starting to feel a little better. Modal was sprawled on the bed watching him. The elf had polished off his own burger quick enough, and now he was sucking on a beer he'd pulled from the room's minibar.

Thinking that a beer would go down just wiz, Falcon glanced at the elf, at the beer in his hand, raised an eyebrow questioningly. Modal's expression and body language didn't change. He'd still rather see me flatlined. Falcon thought. Which means he's not likely to offer me a drink. He hesitated, then crossed to the minibar and fished out his own beer. An import, he saw, in a real gla.s.s bottle. Modal was scowling fiercely, but at least he hadn't shot him. Falcon twisted off the top, sprawled back in his chair, and gave the brew the attention it deserved.

A few minutes later, the door to the adjoining room swung open. Falcon had heard Sly carrying on a phone conversation, but the door's sound insulation was enough to keep him from making out any of her words. It must have been bad news, he thought. She looked like h.e.l.l, face pinched and white, eyes haunted.

Modal sat up, put his beer down. ”Bad news?” he asked in his weird accent.

Sly nodded, slumped down on the bed next to the elf. Modal handed over his can of beer. The dark-haired woman took a healthy pull on it, smiled her thanks.

”Things are definitely . . . what you said earlier, fugazi,” she told the elf. Then she interrupted herself. ”What does that mean, anyway?”

”Totally fragged up,” the elf explained. ”It's slang from the Smoke.” He paused. ”It's happening?”