Part 25 (2/2)

That old book of the Pharisees expresses it best: seasons come and seasons go, but the Earth remains forever. (Obviously Ecclesiastes had never heard of Hubble's law or gravitational singularities, but you get the picture.) Again, I digress. (Cf. paragraph 2, above.) Let us move on to more practical matters.

I have spent many long hours pondering the chal enge you face in swaying the Prime Committee, and I have concluded that what you need is a trusted voice. The Council wil seek to put your face on the libertarian cause. They wil highlight your admittedly uncompromising nature, your personal foibles, and your shortcomings; a vote for MultiReal is a vote for Natch, they'l say.You need the Committee to see your situation not as a conflict of brash personalities, but as an ideological struggle. You need someone to present the libertarian position on MultiReal in a measured, persuasive, and objective way.

It seems to me the ideal person to put forth such an argument to the Prime Committee is Speaker Khann Frejohr. And so-I hope you are not upset with me-I approached his office intending to convince him to speak on your behalf.

Unfortunately, the speaker refused to see me, and his senior aides informed me that Frejohr would not make such a speech under any terms. I don't know what sort of disagreement you have with the speaker that would cause him to lie low in this conflict (his office laughably claims a desire to ”maintain impartiality”), but he has indeed made that decision. Frejohr had a.s.signed a midlevel Congressional solicitor to make the libertarians' opening statement. I made it my duty to observe the man in court, and the most charitable conclusion I can come to is that Khann Frejohr is not invested in your success.

So I offered to deliver the libertarian opening statement before the Prime Committee instead.The speakers office agreed.

You gasp.You frown. I admit that I am no politician, and my speeches have been the b.u.t.t of many jokes around the fefcorp. It's true that I have no experience swaying government officials for their vote, and yet I do have decades (and decades) of experience swaying government officials for something even more precious and inseparable: their money.

My reputation has shown some tarnis.h.i.+ng lately, as have al of ours in the fefcorp. But I submit to you that I am stil one of the world's preeminent authorities on brain stem programming and a much sought-after expert on neurotechnological issues. I have been stockpiling this reputation for many, many years, and at my age one begins to wonder exactly what one is stockpiling such a thing for. So now I offer this reputation to you in the hopes that it might be of some service.

You wil , of course, get the opportunity to make your case before the Prime Committee in person. Nothing I do or say in my opening statement wil change that. Al I can hope to do is to make your task somewhat easier.

One last piece of business: Jara has informed me that she has also been cal ed to testify before this hearing, or special session, or whatever the Prime Committee is cal ing it at this hour. She wil be bringing the rest of the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp with her. Since you have not been answering her messages either, Jara asked me to tel you that she does not see any benefit in broadcasting your differences to the world at such a perilous time. She has asked me to relay her a.s.surances that her testimony wil be both fair and impartial to the best of her ability.

And now I have succeeded in relaying her message, in this long-windedeven-by-my-own-standards way.

Rest a.s.sured, Natch, that wherever you choose to go or whatever you choose to do-and whatever becomes of this execrable MultiReal technology-from now until the moment they drag my creaky bones and aching joints off to join the Prepared, I wil always, always be with you.

Sincerely, SerrVigal

29.

Lucco Primo once said, Size up your enemy by studying his approach.

Defense and Wel ness Council troops usual y approached their enemies with the thunderclap of a hundred disruptors and the sonic boom of a hundred hoverbirds in their wake. Such was the Council's edge in technology that Len Borda's officers rarely needed the element of surprise, and their ghostly white robes openly mocked the idea of camouflage.

But when the Council unleashed its legal army, the standard rules of engagement did not apply.

None of the drudges had noticed any unusual activity at the Council's Terran headquarters recently. No streams of departing hoverbirds, no sudden influx of advisors. So when a torrent of white hoverbirds landed at the Melbourne facilities on the thirteenth of January and let loose a merciless tide of lawyers, the public was caught completely by surprise. Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee were among the drudges who could be seen das.h.i.+ng out of public multi gateways soon after the procession began. Even staunch governmentalists like Mah Lo Vertiginous were spotted in the crowd in various stages of dishabil e or disarray.

The procession continued for over an hour. There were nearly two hundred attorneys, technical specialists, legal programmers, a.n.a.lysts, and researchers dressed in matching suits of crisp gray with a muted version of the five-pointed star embroidered on their chests. They fanned out across Melbourne's broadest boulevard and began a slow yet disciplined march toward the Defense and Wel ness Council's administrative offices. Somewhere along the way, they picked up an accompanying scrim of military officers with dartguns drawn and disruptors charged. Half a dozen Council hoverbirds swooped over the street in perfect synchronization. (A dry run, some muttered, for the inevitable pogrom that awaited them al .) By the time this bureaucratic army reached the Council's undistin guished slab of a building, a sizable crowd had gathered to witness the coming of history. Children sat on the shoulders of their parents. Politicians elbowed each other aside in a struggle for prime positioning. Vendors, advertisers, and salespeople fed off the crowd like leeches, while on the Data Sea, a menagerie of video feeds captured the Council's approach from every possible angle.

At the last minute, several libertarian activists emerged from the crowd and linked hands, cordoning off the steps leading to the Council building. A hush fel upon the crowd. There was a tense standoff between the commander of the white-robed officers and the leader of the libertarians. Several minutes pa.s.sed, with their arguments growing more heated by the second. Final y, the irritated commander turned his back on the activists and made a gesture to his troops.

The officers shouldered their rifles as one and did not hesitate.

Murderers! cried a few strident voices. Bloodthirsty tyrants! But the Defense and Wel ness Council's legal army continued up the steps with nary a pause and disappeared inside the building.

A few moments later, the libertarian activists struggled groggily to their feet, plucking darts from their torsos. They were dazed but otherwise al right.

The three fiefcorpers lined up against the wal of Jara's apartment like troops submitting to an inspection, their spines uncomfortably stiff and their eyes doggedly forward-facing. Jara marched down the aisle and bayoneted each one of them with a sharp stare. She insisted that Horvil comb his hair, that Merri stand up straight and project confidence, that Ben take control of his scowling or stay home.

Jara saw the reactions on their faces and almost backed off. Everyone was bone tired from the stress of the past few days-the disruptions in the tube lines, the demonstrations in the streets, the constant migraine of Council troops around every corner-and their att.i.tudes toward Jara were beginning to slide from mild distrust to outright resentment. She was just a short hop away from breakdown herself.

Natural y, it was Benyamin who chose to speak up. ”Can't you give it a rest for once, Jara?”

The a.n.a.lyst walked up to the young apprentice and stood within spitting distance. ”I've had just about enough of you,” she said with a grimace. ”There could be ten bil ion people watching us tomorrow at that Prime Committee hearing. Do you understand that? Literal y ten bil ion people. We need to look our best.”

”They'l understand, Jara,” said Merri, her voice stretched and hoa.r.s.e. ”Everyone's feeling a little surreal right now. The audience is going to be dis...o...b..bulated too.”

Horvil nodded. ”She's right. We're not a theater troupe. You can't expect us to be onstage every day when we've got work to concentrate on. Do you realize how little we've gotten done this past month because of al this political c.r.a.p?”

Jara stared at the engineer, momentarily speechless. His words might have been harsh, but his tone was mel ow, almost supportive. She found her thoughts slipping, like fingers losing their grip on the rung of a ladder, fal ing back to that scene in the museum at Andra Pradesh. The feel of his chubby hand enclosing hers. The radiating concern. That warm, uncomplicated, perpetual y adolescent face beaming at her with an emotion raw and undistil ed.

Who wouldn't feel embarra.s.sed to be on the receiving end of such a look?

Ben cut through her reverie with a heavy sigh.

Jara only stopped herself from throttling Benyamin by a tremendous act of wil . She flipped through her mental library and dusted off GrimFace 202, one of the intense glares she had programmed for such an occasion. ”Do you trust me?”

she said. ”Al of you. Do you trust me?”

A pause. A few frowns. Merri, sheepish, answered. ”Yes. Of course we trust you.”

”Good.” Jara walked up to Benyamin and stabbed his chest with the nail of her right index finger. ”Then f.u.c.king listen and do what I say. Al right?”

The fiefcorpers nodded and fol owed her out the door.

Jara berated herself for that petulant little outburst al the way to the tube station. Isn't that exactly the kind of s.h.i.+t you criticized Natch for? she thought.

Yel ing at everybody for no reason. Refusing to explain yourself. She was practical y marinating in irony. One week in charge of a major fiefcorp, and al you can do is imitate Natch. Natch, the worst manager you've ever known. Pathetic. She debated making some kind of apologetic gesture to the rest of the fiefcorpers al the way to the tube platform.

She stil hadn't made a decision when the train arrived and everyone stepped aboard.

Moments later, they were off.

The fiefcorp maintained complete silence for several hours after the train whooshed out of the station, and there was no one else in their part of the car to fil the void. So they kept watch out the windows. The dilapidated tunnels and debris-strewn lowlands of Britain, practical y untouched since the Autonomous Revolt, soon made way for the comforting dul gray of the sea. After that, Africa. Sea became sh.o.r.e, sh.o.r.e became forest.

The silence was final y broken by the arrival of a freshly minted Latin accent during the stop at Cape Town. ”Looks like the crew's al here!” said Robby Robby, oozing down the aisle with a jaunty grin.

”Al the ones who aren't dead, accused of murder, or in prison,” replied Horvil, deadpan.

Benyamin jabbed his cousin in the side. ”What about Serr Vigal?”

”He works in a memecorp, doesn't he?” said Horvil. ”I cal that prison.”

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