Part 38 (1/2)
As soon as she stepped into the auditorium, she could tel that any extenuating evidence she had to offer would fal on deaf ears. The lowest ring in the auditorium was packed with the twenty-nine Committee members, some fifty staffers, and at least twenty private security teams. No drudges, no spectators, no Defense and Wel ness Council guards, no libertarians to be found.
The members of the Prime Committee were furious. Their stares fixed on Jara like searchlights, and their questions stabbed at her like bayonets. She was asked at least a dozen times if she knew what had happened to Natch, who the people in black robes were, and why the infoquake struck when it did. Al Jara could do was politely disclaim al knowledge. Even the libertarian members who had reacted enthusiastical y to Serr Vigal's speech had little to say; their sights were on history now as they struggled to find pretty, perfumed words of demurral for the official record. Two hours after Jara walked into the auditorium, the Prime Committee dismissed her without al owing her to speak a single word of substance. She promptly returned to the Creed Elan hostel, turned off her alcohol-metabolizing OCHREs, and drank herself into a stupor.
Benyamin approached her in the common room early the next day. He had spent most of the time since the Tul Jabbor Complex fortified in the hostel, along with Vigal, Merri, and Horvil. Jara didn't bother to find out where Robby Robby had gotten off to.
”I know it's not my decision,” said the young apprentice, ”but I think we should go home.”
Jara took a swal ow of nitro and tilted her head in thought. He was acting unusual y deferential. ”Why?”
Ben shrugged. ”It could take days for the Prime Committee to make up their mind.
Weeks even. You've already testified, and they probably won't cal on any of the rest of us. With these infoquakes happening left and right ... wel , I'd rather be at home when they come.”
The a.n.a.lyst nodded. She had already reached the same conclusion last night after her third vodka banzai, but she wasn't about to pa.s.s up the opportunity to improve her rapport with Benyamin. ”Good idea, Ben,” she said. ”I think you're right. Tel the others to go home and get some rest. We'l al touch base in a day or two.”
Jara packed up the few toiletries she had brought and was on her way to the tube station in twenty minutes, pausing only to pay her respects to the Elan facility administrators. She didn't even try to coordinate the ride home with any of the other fiefcorpers.
Seascapes. A light storm off Cape Town. The whisper of the tube engines. Home.
Jara spent the next twenty-four hours lying on the floor of her stil undecorated apartment, trading reminiscences with her sister. The aftershocks from the last infoquake were sending cyclones of chaos around the globe and out to the orbital colonies. Such was the mood of panic that Jara and her sister actual y resorted to text messaging in order to save bandwidth. They talked about their father, who had joined the Prepared fifteen years ago, and their mother, who was long overdue to join him. They talked about the ramshackle apartment in Sao Paulo where they had lived during the Economic Plunge.
They reenacted some of their old whimsical bedtime stories, al about puckish elves and hidden cauldrons of gold and ordinary princesses propel ed into adventure by simply keeping an eye open for the possibilities.
Jara moped for another eighteen hours, staring at the virginal plaster of her blank wal s.
What to do now? Where to turn? What if Natch real y was gone for good this time? Was that simply ... it for the fiefcorp?
Strange territory, this blank existence. It occurred to Jara that this was the first real idle time she had had since joining up with Natch's fiefcorp three and a half years ago. There had always been some project that needed attention, some cracked scheme Natch wanted her to map out. She couldn't remember when-or if-she had taken a single day off in al that time. And now? Now she felt like al of the obsessions that had been crammed inside her skul had been simultaneously erased-Natch, MultiReal, the fiefcorp, Geronimo. What remained?
Horvil answered her Confidential Whisper mere nanoseconds after she sent the request.
”Process' preservation, woman,” he said, exasperated, ”I've been trying to reach you for, like, a day and a half now.”
”I know,” said Jara. ”I'm sorry.”
”So ... what's next?”
”You mean, what's next for the company? Or what's next for you and me?”
The engineer let out a ruminating hum. ”Both, I guess.”
”We're going to have a fiefcorp meeting tomorrow. Ten o'clock sharp London time, at the Surina Enterprise Facility.”
”And ... ?”
”You and me? Wel ... can you be here in twenty minutes?”
”I can be there in fifteen.”
43.
Len Borda stood at the porthole of his s.h.i.+p and surveyed the choppy seas. Waves leapt up some fifteen meters high, tossing algorithmical y generated sailors around with kraken glee and threatening to drag the fragile s.h.i.+p down to a watery doom. He had lost two of the best in the armada, and the remaining two were only being held together by rope and pitch. But the six French juggernauts that had been cutting off his supply lines were now nothing but driftwood.
The high executive sent lifeboats out to pick up the wounded and the dying. The death of a virtual sailor was nothing to mourn, of course. But Borda had learned years ago that prisoners made good bargaining tools, and they could be chained to the oars in a pinch.
”Wel played,” said Magan Kai Lee.
Borda knew better than to betray his surprise at the sudden voice behind him. He had predicted that the lieutenant executive would try to make contact today, even if he couldn't pinpoint the exact time or the method Magan would use. The fact that the lieutenant was forbidden from walking DWCR's corridors-under penalty of deathwouldn't deter him.
”I could have your multi transmission traced,” said Borda, without averting his gaze from the porthole.
”You know as wel as I do how unreliable that technology is,” replied Magan, unperturbed. ”And even if you could trace the transmission, you'd need a hundred thousand officers to get to me here.”
”I have a hundred thousand officers, many times over.”
Pause. ”Are you sure?”
The high executive sighed. He didn't doubt that he stil commanded enough troops to pry Magan's stray contingents out of whatever hole they were skulking in. But the point was wel taken. An era of steady loyalties had come to a messy demise in the Tul Jabbor Complex last week. Now n.o.body wearing the white robe and the yel ow star could look at his fel ow officers without second-guessing. These days, justice had many masks. It was remarkable that none of the drudges had picked up on the schism between Magan and Borda yet, but that could only last for so long. Once the story broke-wel , things would only get murkier.
Borda turned around to face Magan Kai Lee. His subordinate looked wel rested and comfortable, hardly like a man on the run from the most powerful military force in the history of the world. He had kept the white robe but abandoned the gray smock of his position.
”So tel me, Magan,” said the high executive, voice devolving into a sneer. ”You're the one with al the elaborate plans. Short-term plans, long-term problems, isn't that right? Wel , you've led us to this state of affairs. Use your wisdom and tel me what you have in store for the Council now.”
Magan pul ed out a chair at Borda's ornately carved planning table, setting aside yel owed maps and letters of marque before taking a seat. ”I'm not the man who ordered two a.s.sa.s.sinations on the floor of the Tul Jabbor Complex. My plans wil depend on his.”
”Spare me your soliloquies,” muttered Borda. ”I gave you a chance to prove yourself.
You failed. You brought riots and chaos. You reminded the world that the Defense and Wel ness Council is subject to the whims of the Prime Committee.”
Borda looked down and noticed that he was repeatedly thumping one bony fist against the cabin wal . He stopped, perhaps a second too soon to persuade Magan it had been intentional. ”We should have brought Natch to the bargaining table, by force. That would have ended it.”
The lieutenant executive's face was impa.s.sive. ”You would have coerced him into handing over MultiReal. You would have tortured him.”
”It wouldn't have come to that. The fiefcorp master's not stupidhe would have made a deal.”
”And if he hadn't ...” Magan sliced his hand through the air with an almost irreverent manner. ”You would have done to him what you did to Marcus Surina.”
”I told you, it wouldn't have come to that!” thundered Borda. Outside, the winds surged to hurricane strength. From the corner of his eye, the high executive could see the s.h.i.+p's boatswain dangling over the railing by a frayed rope. None of the other virtual sailors were rus.h.i.+ng to his aid.
But Magan Kai Lee was not intimidated by his master's wrath. He sat and watched the high executive with that same inscrutable look on his face. If control ing one's emotions were the only skil necessary to lead the world's security and military forces, then Magan would make a fine high executive indeed. But that's not al it takes, thought Borda. You need to be able to think on your feet.
You need to be able to win votes on the Prime Committee, and sometimes to manipulate them. You need to be able to sign the order to terminate a life-even if that life is a Surina's.
”I didn't come here to discuss Marcus Surina,” said the lieutenant, shattering the high executive's moment of reflection. ”I came because I have something to show you.”