Part 5 (1/2)

To Natch, each day had a unique flavor that he could rol on his tongue like wine. Few recognized the distinctions between weekdays and weekends anymore, and n.o.body but lawyers and accountants observed the new year. But there were a few days that seemed disturbingly rancid, for reasons he couldn't discern. January 15 stood out as a particularly bad day, and the whole fol owing week tasted as bitter as ash.

”January 8,” he said at length. ”A week from Sunday.”

More relieved sighs. Given what the fiefcorp had gone through for the last demo, eleven days felt like a century.

”It's too b.l.o.o.d.y quiet in here,” came a gruff voice from the doorway. ”Let's hear some more noise.”

Quel strode in, his breath stinking of saffron and bay leaves. The Islander looked as if he could have curled the rest of the fiefcorp with one ma.s.sive biceps. The thin copper col ar around his neck feeding him the sights and sounds of the virtual world seemed more uncomfortable than ever.

”You're missing al the excitement,” said Horvil to his fel ow engineer. ”It's demo time again.”

”Fun,” said the Islander, voice doused with sarcasm. ”I can't wait.” He walked over to Natch and enacted his peculiar Islander custom of clasping hands and shaking.

Natch stood before the window for a moment with his hands behind his back. Staring.

”No, not a demo,” he said. ”An exposition.”

Benyamin let out a skeptical phfft. ”What's the difference?”

”A demo is a preview. An exposition is a celebration.” The fiefcorp master's statement was greeted by a confused silence. He stepped back and spread his arms toward the window as if unveiling a marquee. ”Picture this: a field of gra.s.s, a huge crowd. Two teams playing basebal , every single player using MultiReal.”

Horvil gazed unblinkingly at the window. ”Where are you going to get the other team?”

he said. ”You wanna invite the Patel Brothers?”

”No. We pick them at random. We pick al the players at random, both teams.”

”We could hold some kind of public lottery,” said Merri, her eyes glinting. ”Then we could announce the winners at a big publicity event.”

”I think this could work,” put in Quel , rubbing his chin with his bear's paw. ”Instead of holding MultiReal up on a stage, we give the audience a taste of it. So they'l know what it's real y like to use the program. Makes it that much harder for Borda to take away.”

”Aren't we beating this basebal thing to death?” said Jara. ”People are going to think the only thing MultiReal's good for is. .h.i.tting home runs.”

Natch, unconcerned: ”Then let's make it soccer. Or jai alai. Doesn't matter.” He turned to face the rest of the fiefcorp and straightened his spine like a dril sergeant. ”Listen, I know it feels like we have eons to put this together. But we've used up the element of novelty. People have been talking nonstop about MultiReal for a month now, and we can't just repeat what we did last time.”

The a.n.a.lyst flipped dark curls of hair from her eyes, the better to face down a looming chal enge. ”I'm up to the task,” she said. ”But it's not me you have to worry about. Most of this is going to fal on Horvil's shoulders.”

”Me and Quel , we've been pounding out al kinds of changes to the code in Minds.p.a.ce,”

said the engineer with an insouciant air. ”Possibilities is humming. It's like we turned some kind of corner. But stil doesn't mean it's gonna be easy. We have a lot of loose ends to tie up before we can sic this thing on five hundred mil ion people again.”

Natch: ”So can you get the job done?”

Horvil's voice did not leak the smal est droplet of doubt. ”Yeah, we'l get it done,” he said.

Quel gave a reinforcing nod of confidence. ”Provided that Ben's a.s.sembly-line goons do their job.”

”No worries,” said Benyamin. ”Greth Tar Griveth has the programming floor standing on notice.”

”And I'l start working the sales channels with Robby Robby,” put in Merri, standing up and brus.h.i.+ng off her blouse.

Serr Vigal sat on the sofa, beaming quietly. His role in the fiefcorp was strictly an advisory one, but no one doubted that he would make himself available as needed.

Natch's pacing slowed as he surveyed the group arrayed before him. He could scarcely believe that a month ago, the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp had been fumbling, awkward, and ready to quit. Now they had caught the same intoxicating scent of victory that Natch had been fol owing since his first meeting with Margaret Surina. This was no hodgepodge of runners-up and also-rans Natch had a.s.sembled; this was a first-rate team.

The entrepreneur tried to conjure some words of inspiration, but for some reason the linguistic centers of his brain felt tangled and knotted. ”Al right,”

said the fiefcorp master, twirling one hand in the air. ”Let's get to work.”

8.

Jara pledged to waste no more time with Geronimo until the MultiReal exposition was over, at the earliest. There was too much to do. But she might as wel have spent the next morning dabbling on the Sigh, for al she accomplished.

She began the day arguing with Merri over details of the MultiReal exposition. They agreed to have the lottery winners play soccer instead of basebal , but Merri insisted there should be twenty-three lottery winners instead of twenty-two.

”That's uneven,” Jara complained. ”Somebody's going to get an extra player.”

”Yes, but think of the symbolism,” said Merri. ”One for each member of the Prime Committee. We could even choose one player from each Committee bailiwick.”

Jara summoned a holographic bar chart that displayed the Committee bailiwicks in bright blues and purples. Across the Atlantic, Merri's window would be showing the same thing. ”That means putting a bunch of central government employees on the field,” she protested. Jara pointed to the column labeled MEME COOPERATIVE (3) and set it aglow. ”Do you real y want three Meme Cooperative officials nosing around backstage at our exposition?”

”That could be part of the gimmick. It's perfect, Jara! The Congress of L-PRACGs has twelve seats on the Committee, right? And al the other government and business interests put together have eleven. We can bil the game as 'the people versus the government.”'

”And the extra player?”

”I don't know. Maybe we can just rotate goalies. We'l figure something out.”

But Jara was skeptical, and they decided to put off making any decisions until they had spoken with Natch at the afternoon fiefcorp meeting. This sounds like one of his ideas, thought the a.n.a.lyst. He'l definitely take Merri's side, and that's just going to cause trouble.

Frustrated, stil itching with unscratchable desire, Jara decided to cut the conversation short and step out of her apartment for a change. Her next-door neighbors blinked in surprise when she pa.s.sed them in the hal way, having given her up for dead weeks ago.

Jara emerged from the tenement into a glum, drizzly London afternoon. So much for modern technology, she thought. For thousands of years, the British Isles had been under the capricious grip of nature, and London had constantly wal owed in rain. Now, after two centuries of unparal eled technological progress, the weather was determined by the Environmental Control Board, the regional L-PRACGs, and a patchwork of smal er agenciesand stil the city wal owed in rain.

The fiefcorp a.n.a.lyst made her way north, where the cobblestone turned to splotchy asphalt. She pa.s.sed the farmers' market and the basebal stadium.

Twenty minutes later, she found her destination: a smal nitro bar nestled among the shops of New Downing. A familiar site, part haven and part hideaway.

Jara could practical y feel the warm nitro lathering her tongue as she walked in the door.

But as soon as she made it inside, she stopped short. The man standing in her path may have been wearing a loose green caftan instead of a white robe and yel ow star, yet there was no mistaking Magan Kai Lee.

Jara could feel her animal instincts kick in. She made a quick pirouette, looking for the glint of Council dartguns, but al she could see was the quotidian a.s.sortment of nitro junkies and chintz-patterned sofas.

Jara had watched the video of Magan's failed raid on Natch's apart ment at least a dozen times. She had gotten used to seeing him as a startled animal buffeted by a hailstorm of drudge questions. Now, standing in the nitro bar, the lieutenant executive was serene and confident, like a man who was either armed to the teeth or twice as large as everyone else in the room. But Magan bore no weapon that Jara could see, and even she topped his slight frame by a few centimeters.

”Towards Perfection, Jara,” said Magan.