Part 21 (2/2)
Natch's mind skated along Feynman pathways, col ating alternate realities at ludicrous speeds, selecting the one possibility out of a mil ion that suited him, over and over again. Khann Frejohr's eyebrow writhed up and down in concentration. The speaker's expression took a slow journey from doubt to discomfort, and then dipped momentarily into fear.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
After several long seconds had pa.s.sed, a single droplet of sweat trickled down the speaker's forehead and came to a rest on the tip of his nose.
Frejohr had not budged from the railing.
”I-I can't move,” he said.
Natch nodded with grim satisfaction as he shut off the program. He had never tried this particular MultiReal trick before, and he hadn't known if it would work or not. Manipulating a street vendor into giving a two-credit discount on lunch was one thing; thwarting the wil of the speaker of the Congress of LPRACGs was another. It was tremendously empowering. And yet, as Horvil had warned him, it wasn't without cost.
Expending al that mental energy left him quivering like a junkie, just a few heartbeats away from total col apse. He switched on an adrenaline program to keep himself upright.
”Do you know why you can't move?” said Natch in a menacing whisper.
Khann Frejohr shook his head.
”Because when we run the simulation over and over in our minds, your brain tel s me there's a possibility that you'l decide not to move. It might be remote. It might be insignificant. It might take me a mil ion iterations to get to. But with MultiReal, I can find that possibility.
”And if I can find it-what could Len Borda find if he digs deep enough? The desire to obey authority? The desire to confess al your secrets, al the Congress's secrets?” Natch walked up to the speaker and leaned in close. ”Maybe even the desire to stand stil in the crosshairs of a Council multi disruptor?”
They peered over the railing at the group of Council officers below. One of them was actual y checking the scope on his shoulder-mounted disruptor cannon; he could have aimed and fired at Frejohr in the blink of an eye. n.o.body knew for sure whether the Council had the ability to pa.s.s black code through a disruptor beam, but judging by Frejohr's wide eyes and sweat-mottled forehead, the speaker didn't relish taking that chance.
”I don't think you understand the urgency,” said the entrepreneur. ”Once the Council gets ahold of MultiReal, that wil be the end of libertarianism. That's it. Who could possibly fight against an army of Council officers armed with that program? n.o.body. It would be the end of the Congress, the end of freedom as we know it for hundreds or thousands of years. It al comes down to this: if Len Borda or Magan Kai Lee seizes MultiReal, your speakers.h.i.+p wil vanish, and you'l be forgotten. Wiped out of history without a trace. Is that how you want to end your career?”
Natch could see the fear behind Frejohr's eyes ignite a spark of anger. For a brief moment, the man standing before him looked like the man in the history files. It was the sign Natch had been waiting for, an indication that the speaker could indeed prove useful.
Yet stil there was hesitation. ”I don't think you understand the politics involved here, Natch,” said Frejohr. ”I've only been speaker for a month. I'm barely holding on to a slim libertarian majority in the Congress as it is. You can't just expect the libertarian members to start pus.h.i.+ng on the Prime Committee so soon.”
Natch snorted. ”I don't real y care what they do. I didn't cal this meeting to talk to the Khann Frejohr who's the speaker of the Congress of L-PRACGs. I wanted to talk to the Khann Frejohr who has contacts in the libertarian movement, the labor unions, the creeds. I wanted to talk to the Khann Frejohr who stages insurrections.”
25.
The politicos filed in from the foyer, nine in al , each more smug and self-satisfied than the last. Natch disliked them immediately.
It was a motley group. A labor boss who had led a violent strike against OrbiCo, simultaneously causing a handful of deaths and a plunge in the company's stock price. A pair of tyc.o.o.ns who had bought large swaths of real estate on Luna and turned them into indulgent playgrounds for the wealthy. A few L-PRACG politicians who dangled from the shadier fringes of the libertarian movement. The bodhisattva of Creed Libertas, looking quite regal with her long black hair and her robe marked with the insignia of the rising sun. A tiny bronze-skinned woman whose connectible col ar tagged her as an Islander. And final y, of course, Khann Frejohr.
The interesting thing about the libertarian movement, Natch reflected as he watched the group jockey for seats in his living room, was that neither rich nor poor could claim owners.h.i.+p of it. The instinct to keep the centralized government out of one's business didn't just cross boundaries, it obliterated them.
Natch wished he could be somewhere else entirely. The MultiReal stunt he had performed on Khann Frejohr yesterday had taken more out of him than he thought possible; a palpable sense of uncleanliness seeped through his pores, as if his OCHREs were limping along near burnout. And that on top of the corrosive black code in his veins, the MultiReal programming in his skul , and the throbbing of his arm. If only he could jettison al these people from the apartment and just ... sleep. How long had it been?
Frejohr waited until the labor boss had parked himself on Natch's favorite work stool and everyone had taken the prudent step of priving themselves to outside communication. Then the speaker brought the meeting to order.
”My friends,” began Frejohr. ”Comrades. We live in dangerous times. We're standing on the precipice of a very steep cliff. We're looking over the edge, and we can see that it's a long, long way down.”
Natch had found a place near the front door where he could observe the proceedings without intruding. Listening to Frejohr now, he understood why this man had risen so far in the ranks of the libertarian movement, why he had become the symbol of opposition to Len Borda. The voice that had sounded like a tired mumble yesterday had metamorphosed into a hypnotic purr in the presence of his peers. The politicos were transfixed. Natch's exhaustion was quickly forgotten.
”Len Borda has single-handedly ruled the Defense and Wel ness Council for almost sixty years,” continued the speaker, beginning a slow strol around the perimeter of the garden. ”And what's the high executive given us in that sixty years?
An unprecedented military buildup. A state of constant warfare with the Islanders and the Pharisees. The erosion of the people's power base and civil liberties. Just last month, the Prime Committee gave him the legal authority to shut down any program on the Data Sea, at any time.
”And now the Council is in a state of disarray. Within Len Borda's own organization, we hear, a rebel ion may be brewing. A rebel ion that could decide the fate of the world.
”Yes, the world! I'm not exaggerating. Because now the ultimate weapon has been thrown into the mix, and it's cal ed MultiReal.” Frejohr stopped, gave a particularly intense stare at the daisy patch in the middle of the room. ”I a.s.sume you al heard about Natch's little ... demonstration yesterday?”
The politicians turned toward Natch with something resembling awe, as if he himself were the weapon Borda was seeking. Natch thought he could detect a few trembling knees in the group, and he wondered if the politicos were going to demand their own demonstration. Thankful y, no one did. I'd rather jump off the balcony than do that again, he thought.
”MultiReal,”
continued Frejohr. ”A weapon that can warp the wil and control realities. A weapon that the Council could use to reduce the Islands and the Pharisee Territories to rubble.
”Now the creator of this weapon is dead. Its princ.i.p.al engineer's been dragged off to prison. And its owner”-he made a gesture toward Natch-”its owner has been stripped unlawful y of his property. Al that stands between the Council and this deadly technology? A single fiefcorp a.n.a.lyst.
”So I've cal ed a meeting with you, the power brokers of the libertarian movement. The forces on the street, the ones who were there during the troubles in Melbourne in 318.” Natch saw a few nods from the group, including the bodhisattva and the labor leader. ”The ones who did their part then, and the ones who wil do their part when the next opportunity arises.
”My friends, the time for delay is over. The time has come to act.”
The speaker stepped into the corner and bowed his head with what was less an ending to his oration than an indefinite pause. It was a good speech, Natch decided; short on substance, long on pa.s.sion. The libertarians sat for a ful three minutes staring at the carpet.
”So this fiefcorp a.n.a.lyst,” said the labor boss, breaking the uneasy silence. He had perhaps the widest head Natch had ever seen. ”What's her name again?”
”Jara,”
said Frejohr.
”This Jara-where is she? Shouldn't we go get her and hide her away somewhere?”
”Not as easy as it sounds,” replied the speaker. ”She's stil holed up at that estate in West London, and the place is surrounded by drudges. There are a hundred Council officers right around the corner, just waiting for someone to make a move.”
The Islander clasped her head in her hands. ”So what's stopping them? The Council could raid that estate right now. They could torture her and force her to hand over MultiReal while we're sitting here.”
”She's being watched,” said the bodhisattva of Creed Libertas, stroking her hair like a cat grooming its fur. ”We have devotees inside the estate keeping an eye on her twenty-four hours a day. If the Council tries anything-either faction, Borda's or Lee's-then we'l have some notice. We'l be ready.”
Natch remembered the spontaneous protest on the tube that had saved him from those Council officers a couple of weeks ago. Antigovernment activists couldn't stand up to the officers of the Council in an open fight, of course. But if there were indeed sympathizers among the staff at Beril a's estate, they had a chance of spiriting Jara away from such a confrontation. They could keep her and MultiReal safe, for a little while.
”This is al moot,” put in Frejohr. ”With al the chaos surrounding Margaret's death and the infoquakes, the Council won't risk another raid. They'd have open rebel ion on their hands.”
”It's going to come to that anyway,” said the Islander, with a mysterious glint in her eye.
”Maybe,” grunted the speaker, reticent. ”Maybe not.” It seemed to Natch that Frejohr was very purposeful y not looking in his direction.
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