Part 6 (1/2)

”The Defense and Wel ness Council can give you this.

”Do we want something from you in return? Of course. We want your cooperation. The more cooperation we get from you, the fewer public resources we have to waste, the quicker we can move on, and the easier it wil be for Natch.”

Magan turned and focused the ful intensity of his glare on the fiefcorp a.n.a.lyst. It was not an unkind look, but rather a look ful of hidden trapdoors and secret caches of information. In many ways, Lieutenant Executive Lee was Natch's ant.i.thesis: a man of hyperrationality, a man who scrupulously ch.o.r.eographed everything that happened in his presence.

”Jara, I can compensate you for any shares you lose. Not only that, but I can set you up with your own company. A proper company, one run in accordance with the laws of the Meme Cooperative. A company that can earn the number one slot on Primo's honestly, through hard work.

”Natch won't survive this, Jara. You can't change that. What you can change is whether you go down with him.”

With that, Lieutenant Executive Magan Kai Lee gave a bow and strode off into the fog.

He seemed smal enough to be swept away by the rainstorm.

Rey Gonerev, Ridgel o, and Papizon fol owed seconds later, leaving Jara sitting alone in the courtyard with a mug of tepid nitro. It was only after several minutes of doleful reflection that Jara realized Magan had not actual y asked her to do ...

anything.

9.

Soccer was mainly an indoor sport in the Mid-Atlantic, especial y during the wintertime.

The regional L-PRACGs had a longstanding deal with the Environmental Control Board to accept the bulk of the season's snowfal in exchange for mild spring rains, and none of the politicians were wil ing to jeopardize that just to play soccer outdoors.

Stil , finding an indoor field to use for practice and demonstration was more difficult than Natch had antic.i.p.ated. The eastern seaboard was awash in soccer stadiums large and smal and al sizes in between, but few of them had a secure Minds.p.a.ce workbench on the premises. As luck would have it, Natch found one a short tube ride away in Harper. He strode on to the field with Quel , Horvil, and Benyamin close behind. Then he stood for a moment in the center of the field, hearing the roar of a crowd that was stil nine days in the future.

Excited fans, stupefied drudges, indignant Patels: he could hear them al .

Quel , meanwhile, was busy removing the tight metal col ar from around his neck, which Natch supposed was only prudent for a game of soccer. He wondered if he should keep an eye out for any Council officers who might cite the Islander for failing to wear the uncomfortable contraption while in connectible territory. But Quel seemed unconcerned. He pinned a smal , coin-shaped device to his lapel. Natch remembered seeing the device once before-a functional replacement for the connectible col ar, almost certainly il egal. Natch shrugged. They were al here in the flesh this morning, so there were no multi projections for the Islander to miss. Besides, why should Natch care if Quel chose to skirt stupid laws?

The Islander grabbed a bal from the cart and crouched in front of the Harper Bul dogs' net like a professional goalie. ”Okay, Benyamin,” he said.

”Since you got the short end of the stick last time we tried this, I'l let you be on the winning side.” He tossed the bal underhanded at the younger apprentice, who had positioned himself for a penalty kick. ”Possibilities loaded up?”

”Yeah,” said Ben, a wicked gleam in his eye. ”Al ready to go.”

”Then let's see what you've got.”

The two fiefcorpers squared off for a moment. Ben spun the bal in his hands like a gyroscope while Quel gave him a fierce stare. Then suddenly, Benyamin let the black-and-white sphere drop and lashed out with his right foot. The bal rocketed through Quel 's arms and hit the net with a solid whuff.

”Good shot!” shouted Horvil from a bench on the sidelines.

Quel , undeterred, flipped his long pale ponytail over one shoulder and tossed the bal back onto the field.

Natch stood at midfield watching like a dispa.s.sionate referee as Benyamin nailed shot after shot through the Islander's hands. Inept kicks, clumsy kicks, soph.o.m.oric head b.u.t.ts, al sailed effortlessly into the goal despite Quel 's best efforts. Ben flushed with satisfaction. The Islander seemed to be enjoying himself too, in spite of the humiliation.

After a dozen such plays, the Islander final y tucked the bal in the crook of his elbow and stepped out from the net. ”So that's pretty much the same demonstration we did before,” said Quel . ”A col aborative MultiReal process. Benyamin activates the Possibilities program, and we keep replaying the scene over and over again in our heads until Ben finds a scenario that's acceptable. He closes the choice cycle, outputs that 'reality' to his motor system, and it happens.” Quel touched a ma.s.sive finger to his temple. ”The alternate memories up here get erased instantly, and the guy who isn't using MultiReal-in this case, me-never even realizes what's happening. Now here's where things start getting interesting.”

The Islander threw the globe back to Benyamin. Ben palmed the soccer bal in his hands and prepared to score yet another goal. He pul ed back his foot, let the bal slip through his fingersAnd then both Quel and Benyamin slumped to the ground, exhausted. Ben barely had the strength to keep his head from slamming into the gra.s.s.

Meanwhile, the bal rebounded off Ben's s.h.i.+n and went rol ing toward the sidelines.

”What happened?” said Natch.

”That time,” said Quel , panting, ”we were both using MultiReal.”

Horvil's eyes did a ful clockwise circuit as he sifted through the data points. ”Okay, so you've got two MultiReal users working at crosspurposes,” he said. ”Benyamin keeps creating scenarios where he scores a goal. But as soon as he does, Quel takes that scenario and runs it over and over again until he blocks the kick. You get ...” The engineer's jaw rocked back and forth in confusion as he tried to reconcile the equations in his head with the bizarre performance he had just witnessed.

”You get exhaustion,” moaned Ben, stil sprawled on the field trying to catch his breath.

”They're at an impa.s.se,” said Natch. ”An infinite loop, until someone gives up ... or his OCHREs run out.”

Horvil pul ed his cousin to his feet and gave him a vigorous thwack between the shoulder blades. ”Eh, you'l be okay,” said the engineer. ”Ready to take on the Harper Bul dogs in no time. So what did it feel like?”

Benyamin bobbled his head and cracked his neck. Horvil's goodnatured clap on the back actual y seemed to have helped him recover his equilibrium.

”Pretty much like you'd expect. Just the same thing over and over. And over and over and over ...”

”How many times?” said Natch.

”I dunno. You lose track. Felt like hundreds, maybe even thousands. It's like an enormous grid that you scrol through in your head, but you have to expend this tiny bit of effort for every move. Doesn't seem that bad at first, but it adds up.

I couldn't take it anymore. Final y just gave up and cut the whole process off.”

Quel did not bother to pick himself up off the gra.s.s, but simply lay there with his head propped up on one elbow. He had to be packing at least twice as much ma.s.s as Ben, and yet he seemed just as winded. ”So here's our chal enge,” he said. ”You've seen two instances of MultiReal running at the same time. But at our exposition, we're going to have twenty-three.”

Horvil's head slumped to his chest. ”Oooh,” he moaned.

Natch stood with his arms folded. ”Don't tel me that it never occurred to Margaret in the last sixteen years that something like this might happen.”

”Of course it occurred to her,” replied Quel calmly.

”And it's been tested?”

”Sure, it's been tested ... just not with twenty-three people at the same time. Listen, Natch, don't get ahead of yourself. Let me show you the next demo.

Horvil, take your programming bars over to the workbench, go pul up the common tools library....” A long and tortured series of mathematical formulas sprayed from his lips. Horvil soaked it al up, nodded, then dashed through a door in the stands to find the bio/logic workbench.

Natch paced slowly up and down the sidelines, kicking at the gra.s.s with one foot as they waited for Horvil to complete the program modifications. He had been in possession of MultiReal for a month now, and yet he stil knew so little about it. The most powerful work of bio/logics ever created, the pinnacle achievement of the Surinas. But there were stil basic concepts about MultiReal he did not understand and simple questions he could not answer.

Even Horvil had knowledge gaps large enough to pilot an OrbiCo s.p.a.ce freighter through. Natch silently cursed Len Borda and Magan Kai Lee for keeping him on the defensive for the past few weeks, for keeping him on the run and away from Minds.p.a.ce.

Ten minutes later, the engineer emerged from the bowels of the stadium brandis.h.i.+ng his programming bar satchel like a trophy.

Quel arose and brushed himself off, then reached for the soccer bal that had rol ed to a stop near his feet. ”Again,” he said, tossing the bal Benyamin's way.

The young apprentice did a few quick stretches, trying to psyche himself up, unsure whether to be prepared for victory or defeat. He wound up for the kickAnd found each kick thwarted by Quel 's goaltending, time and time again.