Part 9 (1/2)

Not everyone had problems. No doubt Tunc Blumenthal had always played with glowb.a.l.l.s. In any case, Wil knew that Tunc's biggest problem was playing down to everyone else's level. The high-tech ma.s.sed as much as Wil, but stood over two meters tall. He had the speed and coordination of a professional. Yet, when he held back and let others dominate the play, he didn't seem condescending. Tunc was the only high-tech who really mixed with the lows.

After a time, all players learned the proper strategy: less and less did they watch the ball directly. They watched each other. Most important, they watched the shadows. shadows. With the glowball, those shadows were twisting, s.h.i.+fting fingers-showing, where the ball was and where it was going. With the glowball, those shadows were twisting, s.h.i.+fting fingers-showing, where the ball was and where it was going.

The games went quickly, but there was only one ball and many wanted to play. Wil gave up any immediate plans to get on the court. He wandered around the edge of the crowd, watching the shadows flick back and forth, highlighting a face for an instant, then plunging it into darkness. It was fun to see adults as fascinated as kids.

One face stopped him short: Kim Tioulang stood at the outskirts of the crowd, less than five meters from Brierson. He was alone. He might be a boss, but apparently he didn't -iced a herd of ”aides” like Steve Fraley. The man was short, his face in shadow except when a high shot washed him in a quick down-and-up of light. His concentration was intense, but his expressionless gaze contained no hint of pleasure.

The man was strikingly frail. He was something that did not exist in Wil's time-except by suicidal choice or metabolic accident. Kim Tioulang's body was old old; it was in the final stages of the degeneration which, before the mid-twenty-first, had limited life spans to less than a century.

There were so many different ways to think of time now. Kim had lived less than eighty years. He was young by comparison with the ”teenagers” from the twenty-second. He had nothing on Yelen's three hundred years of realtime experience or the mind-destroying stretch of Della's nine thousand. Yet, in some ways, Tioulang was a more extreme case than either Korolev or Lu.

Brierson had read the GreenInc summary on the man. Kim Tioulang was born in 1967. That was two years before Man began the conquest of s.p.a.ce, thirty years before the war and the plagues, at least fifty years before Della Lu was born. In a perverse sense, he was the oldest living human.

Tioulang had been born in Kampuchea, in the middle of one of the regional wars that pocked the late twentieth. Though limited in s.p.a.ce and time, some of those wars were as horrible as what followed the 1997 collapse. Tioulang's childhood was drenched in death-and unlike the twenty-first-century plagues, where the murderers were faceless ambiguities, death in Kampuchea came person to person via bullets and backings and deliberate starvation. GreenInc said the rest of Tioulang's family disappeared in the maelstrom... and little Kim ended up in the USA. He was a bright kid; by 1997 he was finis.h.i.+ng a doctorate in physics. And working for the organization that overthrew the governments and became the Peace Authority.

From there, GreenInc had little but Peacer news stories and historical inference to doc.u.ment Tioulang's life. No one knew if Tioulang had anything to do with starting the plagues. (For that matter, there was no absolute proof the Peace had started them.) By 2010, the man was Director for Asia. He'd kept his third of the planet in line. He had a better reputation than the other Directors; he was no Christian Gerrault, ”Butcher of Eurafrica.” Except during the Mongolian insurrection, he managed to avoid large-scale bloodshed. He remained in power right up to the fall of the Peace in 2048-and that fall was for Tioulang less than four months past.

And so, even though Kim Tioulang predated the rest of living humanity by scant decades, his background put him in a cla.s.s by himself. He was the only one who had grown up in a world where humans routinely killed other humans. He was the only one who had ruled, and killed to stay in power. Next to him, Steve Fraley was a high-school cla.s.s president.

An arcing shot lifted the glowball above the crowd, putting Tioulang's face back in the light-and Wil saw that the Peacer was staring at him. The other smiled faintly, then stepped back from the crowd to stand beside Brierson. Up close, Wil saw that his face was mottled, pocked. Could old age alone do that?

”You're Brierson, the one who works for Korolev?” His voice was just loud enough to be heard over the laughs and shouting. Light danced back and forth around them.

Wil bridled, then decided he wasn't being accused of betraying the low-techs. ”I'm investigating Marta Korolev's murder.”

”Hmm.” Tioulang folded his arms and looked away from Wil. ”I've done some interesting reading the last few weeks, Mr. Brierson.” He chuckled. ”For me, it's like future history to see where the next hundred and fifty years took the world... You know, those years turned out as well as ever I could hope. I always thought that without the Peace, humankind would exterminate itself... And maybe it did eventually, but you went for more than a century without our help. I think the immortality thing must have something to do with it. Does it really work? You look around twenty years old-”

Brierson nodded. ”But I'm fifty.”

Tioulang scuffed at the lawn with his heel. His voice was almost wistful. ”Yes. And apparently I can have it now, too. The long view-I can already see how it softens things, and how that's probably for the best.

”I've also read your histories of the Peace. You people make us out as monsters. The h.e.l.l of it is, you have some of it right.” He looked up at Wil, and his voice sharpened. ”I meant what I said this afternoon. The human race is in a bind here; we of the Peace would make the best leaders. But I also meant it when I said we're willing to go with democracy; I see now it could really work.

”You are very important to us, Brierson. We know you have Korolev's ear-don't interrupt, please! We can talk to her whenever we wish, but we think she respects your opinions. If you believe what I am telling you, there is some chance she may too.”

”Okay,” said Wil. ”But what is the message? You oppose Yelen's policies, want to run things under some government system with majority rule. What if your people don't win out? The NMs have a lot more in common with the ungovs and the high-techs than you. If we fall back to a government situation, they are more likely to be the leaders than you. Would you accept that?” Or grab for power like you did at the end of the twentieth Or grab for power like you did at the end of the twentieth?

Tioulang looked around, almost as though checking for eavesdroppers. ”I expect we'll win, Brierson. The problems we face here are problems the Peace is especially well equipped to handle. Even if we don't win, we'll still be needed. I've talked to Steven Fraley. He may seem rough and tough to you, but not to me. He's a little bit of a fool, and likes to boss people around, but left to ourselves, we could get along.”

”Left to yourselves?”

”That's the other thing I want to talk to you about.” He shot a furtive glance past Wil. ”There are forces at work Korolev should know about. Not everyone wants a peaceful solution. If a high-tech backs one faction, we-” The swinging light splashed over them. Tioulang's expression suddenly froze into something that might might have been hatred... or fear. ”I can't talk more now. I can't talk.” He turned and walked stiffly away.

Wil glanced in the opposite direction. There was no one special in the crowd there. What had spooked the Peacer? Wil drifted around the court, watching the game and the crowd.

Several minutes pa.s.sed. The game ended. There were the usual cheerful arguments about who should be on the new teams. He heard Tunc Blumenthal say something about ”trying something new” with the glowball. The random chatter lessened as Tunc talked to the players and they pulled down the volleyball net. When the new game started, Wil saw that Blumenthal had indeed tried something new.

Tunc stood at the serving line and punched the glowball across the court, over the heads of the other team. As it pa.s.sed across the far court out-of-bounds, there was a flash of green light and the ball bounced bounced as if from some unseen surface. It sailed up and back-and bounced downwards off an invisible ceiling. As it hit the ground, the glow turned to out-of-play yellow. Tunc served again, this time to the side. The ball bounced as from a side wall, then against the invisible far-court wall, then off the other side. The green flashes were accompanied by the sounds of solid rebounds. The crowd was silent except for scattered gasps of surprise. Were the teams trapped in there? The idea occurred to several of the players simultaneously. They ran to the invisible walls, reached out to touch them. One fellow lost his balance and fell off the court ”There's nothing there!” as if from some unseen surface. It sailed up and back-and bounced downwards off an invisible ceiling. As it hit the ground, the glow turned to out-of-play yellow. Tunc served again, this time to the side. The ball bounced as from a side wall, then against the invisible far-court wall, then off the other side. The green flashes were accompanied by the sounds of solid rebounds. The crowd was silent except for scattered gasps of surprise. Were the teams trapped in there? The idea occurred to several of the players simultaneously. They ran to the invisible walls, reached out to touch them. One fellow lost his balance and fell off the court ”There's nothing there!”

Blumenthal gave some simple rules and they volleyed. At first it was chaos, but after a few minutes they were really playing the new game. It was fast, a strange cross between volleyball and closed-court handball. Wil couldn't imagine how this trick was managed, but it was spectacular. Before, the ball had moved in clean parabolas, broken only by the players strokes. Now it careened off unseen surfaces, the shadows reversing field instantly.

”Ah, Brierson! What are you doing out here, man? You should be playing. I watched you earlier today. You're good.”

Wil turned to the voice. It was Philippe Genet and two Peacer women friends. The women wore open jackets and bikini bottoms. Genet wore only shorts. The high-tech walked between the women, his hands inside their jackets, at their waists.

Wil laughed. ”I'd need lots of practice to be good with something that wild. I imagine you could do pretty well, though.”

The other shrugged and drew the women closer. Genet was Brierson's height but perhaps fifteen kilos less ma.s.sive, verging on gauntness. He was a black, though several shades paler than Wil. ”Do you have any idea where that glowball came from, Brierson?”

”No. One of the high-techs.”

”That's certain. I don't know if you realize what a clever gadget that is. Oh, I'll bet you twenty-first-century types had something like it: put a HI light and a navigation processor in in a ball and you could play a simple game of night volley. But look at that thing, Brierson.” He nodded at the glowball, caroming back and forth off invisible barriers. ”It has its own agrav unit. Together with the navigation processor, it's simulating the existence of reflecting walls. I was in the game earlier. That ball's a Collegiate Mark 3, a whole athletic department. If one team is short a player, just tell the ball-and in addition to boundary walls, it'll simulate the extra player. You can even play solitaire with it, specify whatever skill level and strategy you want for the other players.” a ball and you could play a simple game of night volley. But look at that thing, Brierson.” He nodded at the glowball, caroming back and forth off invisible barriers. ”It has its own agrav unit. Together with the navigation processor, it's simulating the existence of reflecting walls. I was in the game earlier. That ball's a Collegiate Mark 3, a whole athletic department. If one team is short a player, just tell the ball-and in addition to boundary walls, it'll simulate the extra player. You can even play solitaire with it, specify whatever skill level and strategy you want for the other players.”

Interesting. Wil found his attention divided between the description and the high-tech himself. This was the first time he'd talked to Genet. From a distance, the man had seemed sullen and closemouthed, quite in keeping with the business profile GreenInc had on him. Now he was talkative, almost jovial... and even less likable. The man had the arrogance of someone who was both very foolish and very rich. As he talked, Genet's hands roamed across the women's torsos. In the s.h.i.+fting of light and shadow, it was like watching a stop-action striptease. The performance was both repellent and strange. In Brierson's time, many people were easygoing about s.e.x, whether for pleasure or pay. This was different; Genet treated the two like... property. They were fine furniture, to be fondled while he talked to Brierson. And they made no objection. These two were a far cry from the group with Gail Parker.

Genet glanced sidelong at Wil and smiled slowly. ”Yes, Brierson, the glowball is high-tech. Collegiate didn't market the M.3 till...” He paused, consulting some database. ”Till 2195. So it's strange, don't you think, that the New Mexicans are the people who brought it to the party?”

”Obviously some high-tech gave it to them earlier.” Wil spoke a bit sharply, distracted by the other's hands.

”Obviously. But consider the implications, Brierson. The NMs are one of the two largest groups here. They are absolutely necessary to the success of the Korolev plan. From history-my history, your personal experience-we know they're used to running things. The only thing that keeps them from bulldozing the rest of you low-techs is their technical incompetence... Now, just suppose some high-tech wanted to take over from Korolev. The easiest way to destroy her plan might be to back the NMs and feed them some autons and agravs and advanced bobblers. Korolev and the rest of us high-techs could not afford to put the NMs down; we need them if we are to reestablish civilization. We might just have to capitulate to whoever was behind the scheme.”

Tioulang was trying to tell me something similar. The evening cool was suddenly chill. Strange that a thing as innocent as the glowball should be the first evidence since Marta's murder that someone was trying to take over. What did this do to his suspect list? Tammy Robinson might use such a bribe to recruit. Or maybe Chanson was right, and the force that ended civilization in the twenty-third was still at work. Or maybe the enemy simply desired to The evening cool was suddenly chill. Strange that a thing as innocent as the glowball should be the first evidence since Marta's murder that someone was trying to take over. What did this do to his suspect list? Tammy Robinson might use such a bribe to recruit. Or maybe Chanson was right, and the force that ended civilization in the twenty-third was still at work. Or maybe the enemy simply desired to own, own, and was willing to risk the destruction of them all to achieve that end. He looked at Genet. Earlier in the day, Brierson had been upset to think they might slide back to governments and majority rule. Now he remembered that more evil and primitive inst.i.tutions were possible. Genet oozed confidence, megalomania. Wil was suddenly sure the other was capable of planting such a clue, pointing it out, and then enjoying Wil's consternation and suspicion. and was willing to risk the destruction of them all to achieve that end. He looked at Genet. Earlier in the day, Brierson had been upset to think they might slide back to governments and majority rule. Now he remembered that more evil and primitive inst.i.tutions were possible. Genet oozed confidence, megalomania. Wil was suddenly sure the other was capable of planting such a clue, pointing it out, and then enjoying Wil's consternation and suspicion.

Some of that suspicion must have shown on his face. Genet's smile broadened. His hand brushed aside one girl's jacket, flaunting his ”property.” Wil relaxed fractionally; over the years, he had dealt with some pretty unpleasant people. Maybe this high-tech was an enemy and maybe not, but he wasn't going to get under Wil's skin.

”You know I'm working for Yelen on Marta's murder, Mr. Genet. What you tell me, I'll pa.s.s on to her. What do you suggest we do?”

Genet chuckled. ”You'll 'pa.s.s it on,' will you? My dear Brierson, I don't doubt that every word we say is going directly to her... But you're right. It's easier to pretend. And you low-techs are a good deal more congenial. Less back talk, anyway.

”As for what we should do: nothing overt just yet. We can't tell whether the glowball was a slip, or a subtle announcement of victory. I suggest we put the NMs under intense surveillance. If this was a slip, then it will be easy to prevent a takeover. Personally, I don't think the NMs have received much help yet; we'd see other evidence if they had.” He watched the game for a few moments, then turned back to Wil. ”You especially should be pleased by this turn of events, Brierson.”

”I suppose so.” Wil resented admitting anything to Genet. ”If this is connected to Marta's murder, it may break the case.”

”That's not what I meant. You were shanghaied, right?”

Wil gave a brief nod.

”Ever wonder what became of the fellow who bushwhacked you?” He paused, but Brierson couldn't even nod to that. ”I'm sure dear Yelen would like this kept from you, but I think you deserve to know. They caught him; I've got records of the trial. I don't know how the skunk ever thought he could evade conviction. The court handed down the usual sentence: He was bobbled, timed to come out about a month after you. Personally, I think he deserved whatever you might do to him. But Marta and Yelen didn't work that way. They rescued everyone they could. They figured every warm body increases the colony's chances.

”Marts and Yelen made him promise to stay out of your way. Then they gave him a shallow disguise and turned him over to the NMs. They figured he could fade into the crowd there.” Genet laughed. ”So you see why I say this is an enjoyable twist of fate for you, Brierson. Putting pressure on the NMs gives you a chance to step on the insect who put you here.” He saw the blank expression on Wil's face. ”You think I'm putting you on? You can check it out easily enough. The NM Director, President-whatever they call him-has taken a real s.h.i.+ne to your friend. The twerp is on Fraley's staff now, saw them a few minutes ago, on the other side of this game.”

Genet's gaunt face parted in a final smile. He gathered his 'property” close and walked into the darkness. ”Check it out, Brierson. You'll get your follies yet.”

Wil stood quietly for several minutes after the other left. He was looking at the game, but his eyes did not track the glowball anymore. Finally, he turned and walked along the outskirts of the crowd. The way was lit whenever the ball rose above the fans. That light flickered white and green and yellow, depending on whether the ball was live, striking a ”wall,” or out of play. Wil didn't notice the colors anymore.

Steve Fraley and his friends were sitting on the far side cat the court. Somehow they had persuaded the other spectators to stand clear of the sidelines, so they had a good view even sitting down. Wil stayed in the crowd. From here he could observe with little chance that Fraley would notice.