Infoquake (51 page)

Anyone who might have suggested two weeks ago that half a billion
people would be standing in the Surina auditorium awaiting a product
demonstration from Natch-Natch the scoundrel, Natch the upstart,
Natch the arriviste-would have been roundly denounced by the
bio/logic pundits on the Data Sea who Clearly Knew Better. Now the
drudges were asking themselves, if an unknown businessman could
jump to the top of the hierarchy with such stunning swiftness, if one
man could leapfrog generations of accepted practice and standard operating procedure, then was anything safe anymore?

High Executive Len Borda emerged from the stage door and the
crowd went silent. The audience, which had just watched a second
incursion of Council troops with good humor, suddenly clouded over
with gloom.

The high executive marched to center stage and swept the auditorium with his piercing gaze. Half a billion onlookers waited expectantly without uttering a single word. A minute passed.

Finally, the Council chief spoke in a voice like rolling thunder. Borda's words were unhurried, untouched by focus groups, and spoken
with a formality that might have been labeled pompous if the labelers
did not fear having their Vault transactions scrutinized to the last decimal point by men in white robes. "My word is the will of the Defense
and Wellness Council, which was established by the Prime Committee
two hundred and fifty-two years ago to ensure the security of all persons throughout the system. The word of the Council is the word of the
people."

A shudder whipped through the crowd like electricity. Those
words had rarely been known to precede a happy occasion.

"Last week, thousands of lives were lost in the orbital colonies due
to a new computational disturbance on the Data Sea known as an infoquake," continued Borda gravely. "The Council and the Prime Committee have been studying this phenomenon but have yet to draw any
conclusions as to its root cause.

"The epistemological implications of this phenomenon may be
uncertain, but the duty of the government remains unchanged.

"It is the solemn obligation of the Defense and Wellness Council
to prevent any such disturbance from happening again. Towards that
end, the Council has proposed to the Prime Committee a number of
temporary measures designed to curb the risks of computational disorder. I have just been informed that the Committee has unanimously
approved those measures."

The crowd's silence was broken by a low murmur from contingents
of hard-core libertarians. Even though the High Executive still followed parliamentary procedure, everyone knew that the final word
belonged to Borda and Borda alone. Who could recall the last time the
Prime Committee rejected one of the Council's military "recommendations"? Remember the statues in the Center for Historic Appreciation, whispered the dissidents in the crowd. Remember that flimsy excuse they conjured up last time to advance their agenda.

"These are the strictures that the Prime Committee has enacted into law as of eight p.m. Melbourne time," said Borda.

"Until further notice, multi attendance will be capped at 500 million persons in any one location.

"All persons assembled at tonight's event will have their access to
the Data Sea severely limited.

"And in the case of an infoquake or another eruption of black code,
the Council will enforce its right to shut down programs on the Data
Sea at its sole discretion."

The murmurings of unrest from the libertarians flared into full-out
yells of protest. High executives had always had the ability to shut
down certain programs deemed harmful to the public welfare-as long
as they ran their decisions through the Prime Committee and the Congress of L-PRACGs first. But now, had the infoquake given Borda
license to act unilaterally, without consultation?

A vocal element of the crowd began stomping its feet. Dire headlines appeared in drudge columns throughout the Data Sea. Chants of
Borda must go echoed in one corner of the arena, until a rash of Council
officers stormed in that direction and began conspicuously fingering
the triggers of their multi disruptors.

Borda was unmoved. He stood and waited for the commotion to
simmer down before proceeding. "The mandate of the Defense and
Wellness Council-the entire reason for its existence-is to preserve the
safety of every citizen in the civilized domains, from the four corners
of Earth to Luna, Mars and the furthest orbital colonies," said the High
Executive dispassionately. "Should the infoquake be deemed a natural
occurrence, then the Council will continue to take measures necessary
to prevent it from happening in the future.

"But if it should be determined that the infoquake was an act of
war by rogue elements of society ..."

Borda's words hung in the air for a moment.

"... then let it be known that the Defense and Wellness Council
will not stand idle. Our armies are poised, on high alert, around the globe and throughout the human territories. The Council is ready to
take action against any group-any group-that tries to take advantage of a sudden lapse in Data Sea integrity.

"We are prepared to act, immediately and irreversibly, without
appeal or exemption.

"Whether the Council acts or not is up to you."

Borda extended one long, bony talon from his fist and aimed it into
the midst of the crowd. The audience grumbling instantly came to a
halt, as 500 million people held their breath. And then, without any
more formalities, the High Executive cut his multi connection and
vanished.

Natch had woken up from his mysterious slumber four hours earlierwoken up alone and in one piece, lying mummylike on his own bed
with no recollection of how he had gotten there. Vague and incomprehensible images hovered in his head, just beyond the reach of his irises.
He could not say whether they were dreams or memories or something
in between.

For advice, he had turned first to Serr Vigal, reaching his old
mentor on an emergency message protocol the two had used for urgent
communications since Natch's days in the hive. It had taken them less
than half an hour to conclude that the black code was still active in
Natch's system, and that only one man had the clout to scare off any
potential attack. By the time Natch and Serr Vigal materialized in the
Defense and Wellness Council's administrative offices barely three
hours before the presentation, the fiefcorp master was ready to agree to
almost anything that would buy some time.

So Natch had promised Len Borda access. Access to MultiReal in
exchange for protection from the black code.

But what exactly did access mean? The term had come from the High Executive's mouth, not Natch's, and so he really had no way of
knowing what subtle shades of meaning Borda applied to the word.
How did access differ from cooperation? And did it also imply control?
Did it at least fall short of the wholesale thievery that Margaret had
been trying to prevent?

Or had Natch just given Len Borda the very thing Margaret Surina
had been trying to keep from him for all those years?

If he had not been so pressed for time, perhaps Natch could have
dickered with the Council over subtle interpretations. Once again,
Margaret's words arose from the graveyard of the mind to haunt him:
You find yourself capable of strange things when you run out of choices. Hadn't
Natch indeed run out of choices? Anyone who would go to the trouble
of assembling a strike force like the one that had ambushed him in
Shenandoah certainly had the power to put together a lethal piece of
black code.

Lethal black code. The implications made Natch's bones tremble.
A program that could tear through his bodily defenses like rice paper
and cause his OCHREs to run amok. Who could predict what would
happen? A jolt of electricity into the brain? Blockage of the main
arteries leading to his heart? Or perhaps something slower, more insidious, more painful?

But it wasn't cowardice that had driven him into Borda's office. I'm
not a coward, Natch had insisted to himself, over and over again like a
mantra. I'm not a coward. There's a lot more at stake here than my own life.
The High Executive had provided all kinds of rationalizations for
Natch's actions. After all, who could say what his black-robed
assailants were after? Perhaps they wanted Natch to go onstage in front
of 500 million people and unleash a ferocious black code attack. Perhaps they wanted to gain control of him so they could unlock access to
MultiReal or kill one of his colleagues.

Or maybe these people in black robes wanted Natch to kill you, Vigal had
mused out loud in Borda's direction, oblivious to the seven or eight Council disruptors that suddenly spun towards his sparsely carpeted
head.

Borda himself had not expressed the slightest inkling of fear at the
neural programmer's suggestion. I'd like to see them try it, he had said,
his amusement registering on some subconscious level of the conversation.

And now, as Natch stood at the stage door watching Borda wrap
up his impromptu speech, another possibility came streaking to the
forefront of Natch's mind. What if the thugs who had assaulted him
in that Shenandoah alleyway were working for the Defense and Wellness Council?

He thought about the offhanded way in which Len Borda had
tossed him an additional twenty minutes of speech prep time while
pretending to give him only ten. The High Executive was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. What if this entire episode was
some kind of trap? What if the assailants in the black robes had been
sent to push him straight into Borda's clutches-and Natch had
unwittingly done their bidding?

After the High Executive cut his multi connection and vanished,
Natch looked at the millions in the crowd and tried to will himself to
take those last few steps to center stage. But doubts weighed at his
heels like shackled cannonballs. What if he had made the wrong decision to enlist the Council's help? What if he couldn't get MultiReal to
work? What if his demonstration caused another infoquake?

The anxiety crescendoed to a mind-splitting intensity-and then
suddenly switched off.

The presentation did not matter. None of this really mattered.

Natch was already doomed.

Black code prowled his system like a merciless reaper, relentless,
insatiable, and ready to mow him down at any time. Even if the
Council was dealing honestly with him-even if they had no involvement with the shadowy figures in the black robes and sincerely wanted to protect him-Natch doubted that Borda could act swiftly enough
to stop the rogue program from taking his life. The black code had
become a part of him. An internal attack could happen at any moment,
between one breath and the next. It could happen now.

He took the first tentative step up the narrow ramp towards center
stage. It was a straight path, without detours or alternate routes. Natch
could either walk away, or he could soldier on and trust that he would
get through the presentation in one piece. He would have to trust that
Borda would abide by his promise; he would have to trust that Jara's
script would wow the crowd; he would have to trust that Horvil and
Quell's engineering had done the job, that Benyamin's assembly-line
shop had performed as advertised, and that Merri and Robby had
wedged open enough minds in the audience to give him a chance.

Natch reached center stage an empty husk.

Millions upon millions of people stood arrayed before himpeople of all shapes and sizes and colors and creeds swirled together.
Chattering insects. The temporary organic effluence of the Null Current, dredged from the water for a brief flickering instant between
tides, an aspect of the endless sea of nothingness that surrounded them
all.

Jara's words floated to the front of his mind.

"Towards Perfection," said Natch. The auditorium amplified his
words to every corner of the arena. He was surprised to find his voice
rich and melodic and unstressed.

Natch paused for a moment to scan the crowd, then did a doubletake, exactly as Jara's script dictated. Five hundred million pairs of eyes
were scanning him back. The entrepreneur made an incredulous gesture towards the stage door, where a fictitious staff stood egging him
on. "That's funny," he said. "I expected to be talking to you about
what's real and what's MultiReal-but I didn't expect this whole setting to be so surreal." The joke was not really funny at all, and yet millions of people were laughing anyway. Of course, the presence of sev eral thousand grim Council officers standing at attention with dartri-
fles drawn did lend a certain absurdity to the whole scene.

The fiefcorp master smiled and continued. "MultiReal is the creation of new realities," Natch announced. "Alternate realities. Separate
realities. The ability to visualize many things at once in order to do one
thing exactly as you want.

"And what will we do with these realities?

"We'll do the same things we've always done, of course-eat,
work, strive, struggle, make love-only better. Smarter. With more
control.