Part 6 (1/2)

Natch shrugged. He would not be lured into one of these pedantic Vigalish dialogues today. ”Things are different now. The economy is exploding, and there's too much opportunity out there to waste time on an apprentices.h.i.+p. Two years ago-”

The neural programmer shushed him with a raised hand. His face bore a pained expression. ”I hear that nonsense from the drudges every day. I'm surprised that you, of all people, don't know propaganda when you read it. But it's not just you-your hivemates, the proctors, Brone, Horvil-everyone is falling for this drivel.” Vigal wrung his hands as if trying to cleanse them of a foul and noxious liquid.

Natch searched his mental catalog of conversations with the neural programmer, but this outburst of emotion from Vigal was unprecedented. Natch never imagined that Vigal had given much thought to his education, much less had any pa.s.sionate convictions about it.

”Krone believes he is ready to start his own business,” Vigal con tinued firmly. ”Let him. He is a vicious person headed for a vacuous career, and he will be sorry he turned down a few extra years of study without the pressures of the marketplace. But you, Natch, you're better than that. You are not ready to run your own company. If you jump into the fiefcorp world too quickly, you will regret it.”

Natch reeled back, stunned, and sat on the edge of a stone planter. He had never received a reprimand from Serr Vigal, and now it stung like a jolt from Brone's static electricity program. ”So, what would you have me do?” he spat out bitterly.

”Natch, I can't have you do anything,” said Vigal. Already his concentration was beginning to dissipate, to fade into everyday melancholy. ”Once you return from initiation, you'll be old enough to make your own choices. You can subscribe to your own L-PRACGs, pledge to whatever creeds you choose. You can solicit capitalmen for funds and start your own fiefcorp, if you want. But ... if I could wish anything for you, it would be that you would take an apprentices.h.i.+p somewhere close ... somewhere I can keep an eye on you.” His face turned an embarra.s.sed red.

So that's what this is all about, thought Natch. He hadn't expected a sermon from his legal guardian-in fact, he hadn't expected Vigal to show up today at all. But now that the sermon had become a referendum on his parenting skills, things were starting to make sense.

Serr Vigal exhaled deeply and stretched his arms out behind his back, as if he had just removed a heavy weight from his back. Natch realized his guardian had been rehearsing this speech for some time. ”I can see the look in your face,” said his guardian softly. ”I've seen your scores on the bio/logics exams, Natch. Best in your cla.s.s.”

”Second best,” the boy whispered venomously. Brone's smug face leered at him from the corners of his mind.

”It doesn't matter. The point is, I know you are expecting lots of offers from the capitalmen. No, you don't have to tell me about your meetings-I already know. I'm not asking you to make any decisions right now. We'll talk about it again in twelve months. All I ask for now is that you keep your eyes and ears open, and consider the idea of taking an apprentices.h.i.+p-any apprentices.h.i.+p-after initiation. And be careful out there.”

The boy frowned and kicked at the moss growing between the flagstones. ”You don't have to baby me. I know how to take care of myself.”

”Yes,” sighed Vigal under his breath, ”and sometimes I am afraid that is all you know.”

Natch was used to prowling the hallways of the Proud Eagle alone at night. He had learned to move in total silence, not out of any fear of punishment, but so he could concentrate on the staccato language of settling floorboards and restless insects. The kinds of noises only heard in places built prior to the invention of self-compressing buildings.

On the night before initiation, the halls were packed. Teenagers roamed from room to room in blatant violation of curfew, saying tearful goodbyes, pledging their undying love, settling old scores. Natch saw at least a dozen couples sneak behind closed doors for one last romp on the Sigh. Nervous giggles abounded. He took a furtive glance down the hallway to the proctors' wing. They were following the time-honored tradition of looking the other way and getting drunk.

Over the past week, Natch had been studiously reading the drudge forecasts of the bio/logic market. This year, the demand for fresh programming talent had reached a critical ma.s.s. The Meme Cooperative's rules forbid fiefcorps and memecorps from signing on apprentices or providing start-up capital before graduation from the hive. But Len Borda's post-Plunge economy was churning out opportunity much quicker than warm bodies, and so many companies were willing to risk the Cooperative's tepid penalties.

Natch had studied the laws of supply and demand. What better time to raise money for a fiefcorp than the night before initiation?

Downstairs, he stretched out on a sofa in the atrium to await the arrival of the capitalman Figaro Fi. It was the fifth late-night rendezvous Natch had arranged this week with the power brokers in the fiefcorp world, and the most important yet. The rich and eccentric Fi had bankrolled some of the most spectacular successes on Primo's. Lucas Sentinel and the Deuteron Fiefcorp both owed their laurels to Figaro's generous a.s.sistance, as did the Patel Brothers, the rising young stars of the bio/logic scene. Natch was surprised to get a meeting with the capitalman at all, and readily agreed to his conditions-a meeting in the middle of the night, when Figaro was halfway through his working day in Beijing. Natch explained that the network was offlimits to students so late. He took it as a good omen that Fi agreed to multi to Omaha instead.

At three minutes after midnight, when the ruckus from the upper floors had settled to a low rumble, a multi projection materialized in the atrium.

The person who had coined the phrase Don't judge a book by its cover might have had someone like Figaro Fi in mind. The great capitalman stood almost a head shorter than any of the proctors on staff-shorter, even, than many of the boys-and he was almost as wide as he was tall. His robe, of vivid gold, silver, and copper, made a bold proclamation of idiosyncrasy. Each stubby finger was adorned with a ring; some boasted three or four. Figaro endured the boy's respectful bow and gave a feeble nod in return.

Natch looked the capitalman straight in the eye. ”I invited you here tonight,” he said, ”because I'm interested in your money.”

Fi appraised him coolly, like a rancher surveying his lands. ”Is that so?” His voice was a low rasp, rich with irony.

”If you're not prepared to open your Vault account, then you'd better cut your multi connection right now and not waste any more of my time. Otherwise, follow me.” And with that, Natch wheeled around and headed down the hallway.

Natch did not look back until he had reached one of the plush dens that the Proud Eagle had set up for entertaining guests. It was the kind of dusky room that might have once been lined with leather books. Natch wasn't sure whether or not the capitalman would still be there when he turned around, and he barely managed to restrain a grin of triumph when he saw that the little man had indeed followed him.

Figaro Fi planted himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. ”You've got b.a.l.l.s, and I like that,” said the capitalman sardonically. He pulled a beefy cigar from his coat pocket and chomped on one end. ”Go ahead,” he grunted.

Natch launched into the presentation he had already given a hundred times in his own mind. It was short and to the point. There were holographs of Natch's programming work, a brief list of the accolades he had won in academic compet.i.tions, and the outlines of a fiefcorp marketing strategy. When he finished, he made no attempt at idle chitchat, but rather waited patiently for a reaction from his audience.

Figaro wore an almost lecherous grin. ”I like this,” he said. ”You've been planning this whole thing for weeks, haven't you? Waiting until the last minute. The little scene in the hallway out there. Clever, boy, clever! ”

Natch stood politely with his hands clasped behind his back and said nothing.

”Of course, you know what I came here to see,” continued Fi. He apparently had no intention of lighting his cigar-a pointless act in multis.p.a.ce anyway preferring instead to swing it between two fingers for emphasis. ”You know I'm not here to see your test scores again. I'm not here to see you perform your programming tricks like some monkey or hear your little prepared speech about how you can benefit society.” The capitalman leaned back and let out a hearty laugh, as if he had just told an extraordinary joke. The gold sequins on his belly jingled sympathetically.

”I'm really here to see how you comport yourself,” continued Figaro. ”To see if you really have that killer instinct I've heard so much about. So tell me, Natch, what makes you think I'm going to put up a single credit tonight?”

”Because if you don't,” replied the boy, ”someone else will.”

”And you think I'm going to ruin my good name with the Meme Cooperative by giving fiefcorp money to a hive boy before initiation?”

”Oh, please. You have enough money to pay them off ten times over.”

”True, true.” Figaro seemed quite satisfied with himself, and Natch wondered if he was about to dispense a few nuggets of gossip about what it was like to live a life of privilege. Parties with the lunar land tyc.o.o.ns, programmers catering to your every whim, teleportation on command.

But the capitalman was on a different tack. He wedged the cigar back between his molars and gave Natch a sly look. ”I'm surprised you even asked me here today,” said Fi. ”If you'd really done your homework, you would know that I like to spread my investments around. It's not like me to risk my neck for two boys from the same hive.”

Natch instantly felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. There was only one other boy at the Proud Eagle who could have possibly caught the attention of someone with Figaro Fi's clout. In his mind's eye, Natch saw the last horrible smirk Brone had given him earlier that evening. Horvil's not the only one that's going to be feelingpain. He clenched his fists behind his back until his fingernails carved b.l.o.o.d.y crescent moons into his palms.

”So why did you come here?” the boy snarled.

Figaro broke into a full-fledged smile. ”Because it amuses me, of course.”

Wild thoughts scurried through Natch's head, baring their claws with fiendish fury. If Figaro had been sitting here in the flesh, Natch might well have buried his fingers in the fat man's throat by now. He could feel the growling in his gut and summoned an antacid program, but it did nothing. The visions pranced around his mind. Brone's smug face and Adonic figure, sipping fancy wine in a lunar villa. Brone sitting at the head of a very long conference table lined with adoring apprentices. Brone laughing at Natch's expense.

”And will it amuse you if I go to the Meme Cooperative and tell them you're giving money to a hive boy?” hissed Natch. The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He let them vent. ”Not just any hive boy-a spoiled rich one whose parents probably paid you off. Or what if I go to the drudges? CAPITALMAN ADMITS TO BRIBING MEME COOPERATIVE OFFICIALS-that sounds like a good headline for Sen Sivv Sor.”

Figaro Fi did not seem angry or surprised at Natch's sudden outburst. If anything, he became more serene, which enraged the boy even further. ”So now you're threatening me,” said the capitalman matter- of-factly.

Years later, Natch would cringe when he thought of that evening, and wonder how he had fallen for such obvious bait. But caught in the moment, he found himself hurling all his adolescent rage at the capitalman until he hardly knew what he was saying. ”It's your choice. You can invest in him and I'll turn you in to the Meme Cooperative and the Defense and Wellness Council. I'll tell the drudges. You'll be sorry you ever came here. Or you can invest in me.”

The little capitalman actually seemed to be enjoying the boy's discomfort. His face bore the look of a mischievous child poking a frog with a stick. ”All right, all right, sit down, boy,” he said abruptly. His chubby hand delivered backhanded slaps through the air in Natch's direction. ”You can keep your threats to yourself.”

”And why's that?”

”Because you have nothing on me. Yes, I already decided to give your friend funding. But I'm not foolish enough to do it before he returns from initiation.”

Natch could feel nausea swelling inside him and beating a tattoo on the inside of his skull. He wondered if this was what it felt like to throw up. In a daze, he reached for the armchair behind him and collapsed into the waiting cus.h.i.+on.

”The recruiters all told me about you,” said Figaro Fi, plopping his virtual feet onto an ottoman. ”Brilliant but narrow-minded, they said. Volatile. Unstable. But I just had to see it myself. Those bio/logics scores of yours were too good to ignore.

”Now here's the good news, Natch. I like you. You've got that same look in your eyes that I did forty years ago. Hungry! Vicious! Uncompromising! And by the way, much better scores than I ever got, even in economics.

”No, I haven't changed my mind. I'm not giving you a single credit from my Vault account. But I'm going to give you something even more valuable.

”I'm going to tell you why.”