Infoquake (54 page)

Nobody spoke for a few moments as Natch wrestled with his emotions. The fiefcorp master seemed to be on the verge of losing complete
control. Vigal raised a hand and started towards Natch's left shoulder,
then thought better of it and returned the hand to his lap.

The SeeNaRee picked up on the foul mood and hurled a blistering
wind across the plain outside. There were so many possibilities, so many
potential enemies. Everyone had heard stories about the shadowy organizations that existed outside the dominion of the Prime Committee and
the Defense and Wellness Council. The violent factions of the Pharisees who yearned to bring humanity back to God's Natural Order ... the
unpredictable masses of the diss who escaped, eluded or just plain
ignored the edicts of the law ... creed bodhisattvas on the fringes who
preached destruction while spurning the normalizing umbrella of the
Creeds Coalition ... radical libertarians who denied the legitimacy of
the central governments and actively worked for their destruction. And
this list didn't even include the disruptive forces arrayed against them
inside the bounds of civilized society. L-PRACGs desperate to get their
hands on any ultimate weapon that could put an end to ancient ethnic
rivalries ... unscrupulous fiefcorps which would leap headlong into
thievery and murder if it would help them make a profit ... drudges
and demagogues with narrow personal agendas who could whip the
public into a revolutionary frenzy ... conservative politicians who
could quarantine MultiReal behind a wall of rules and regulations to
ensure that the program never saw the light of day.

Soon, Natch had muscled the panic into a temporary chokehold,
and his face showed nothing but the normal intensity, the normal restlessness, the normal insanity. "I don't think we need to worry too much
about the black code for the moment," he said. "Len Borda's people are
sniffing around looking for the ambushers. I think his show of force this
afternoon scared them off. If these people in the black robes wanted me
dead-or wanted you all dead-it would have happened by now.

"But if you're looking for a way out ..."

Without warning, the wolf inside took over and Natch burst into
that predatory grin. The grin of the savage beast, the grin that put fear
inside his friends and enemies alike.

"If you want a way out, I'll give you one. You all have twenty-four
hours to liquefy your shares and cash out your contracts at no penalty.
Anyone who doesn't have the stomach for this, anyone who doesn't
want to keep looking over their shoulder wondering where the next
surprise is coming from, now's your chance to get out."

Natch took the tube out to Cisco again to see the redwoods. He sat for
hours mesmerized by their beauty, until they merged together in his
mind, until all he could see were different aspects of one universal Tree.

Of course, the challenges had just begun. They had always just
begun. Natch had connived and bargained and bluffed his way
through the bio/logics game, only to find himself playing in a much
more complex game. The stakes were higher here. You could lose your
business. You could lose your possessions. You could lose your life, and
the lives of those around you.

But had anything really changed? He remembered being five years
old and feeling the oppressive weight of that bureau pressing down
upon him. He remembered a very real fear that the blocks he had used
to prop it up would slip away and leave him dead on the floor.

He stopped in Omaha on the way home.

"I think she's going to quit," Natch said to Serr Vigal, sitting on a
velvet chaise in the neural programmer's study.

Vigal was in his kitchen, preparing tea the traditional way, by
steeping fragrant leaves in near-boiling water. Natch found it a peculiar time-wasting habit. But then again, he had trekked across the continent enough times for a glimpse at the redwoods to look past a petty
vice like caffeine. The older man carefully drew the antique china cup
and saucer to his lips, blew softly, and took a tentative sip. Relaxation
immediately rippled across his face. "Which one?" he said. "Merri or
Jara? "

"Jara, of course. Mark my words, she'll be taking orders from that
peon Lucas Sentinel before the end of the week. As for Merri-I think
she'll stay aboard."

"Are you certain?"

"I know what you're afraid of, Vigal. You're thinking that sooner
or later, Magan Kai Lee is going to get to her and start playing the
morality card. Would the Bodhisattva of Creed Objective want you to stand
up for a man like Natch? He hasn't been asking you to lie and violate your
vows, has he? But I think she's stronger than she looks. Merri won't turn
on us."

The neural programmer came into the study and took a seat across
from his protege. Natch watched his mentor squint at something out
the window. He knew from long experience that Vigal wasn't preoccupied with the view of downtown Omaha two hours before sun-up; he
was preparing to make an emotional statement. "So who do you think
was responsible for the black code, Natch?" he asked finally. "The
Patels?"

"Petrucio says he doesn't know about any black code," replied
Natch. "And even though I've never trusted him before, there's something different about him lately. He really did pledge to Creed Objective. He was telling the truth about that much at least. Maybe Frederic ordered the black code attack-although if it was Frederic, he did
it behind Petrucio's back."

"So if not the Patels, who then? One of your other competitors?"

"Like who? Bolliwar Tuban, or the Serlys, or Billy Sterno? They
don't have that kind of imagination. Pierre Loget has the expertise to
put together a piece of black code that powerful, but it would never
occur to him. And Lucas Sentinel is afraid of his own shadow. The
Meme Cooperative scares him silly, let alone the Council."

"What about your old hivemate? Have you considered whether he
might have been involved?"

"Krone." The word came out like a sneer. "Well, he certainly has
the motive. And he has all those Creed Thassel resources at his disposal. But I stood in the same room with him for an hour, Vigal, and
I came out in one piece. If Brone wanted me dead, Len Borda wouldn't
have scared him off-he would've pulled the trigger and gotten his revenge on me regardless."

"Gorda then."

Natch rose impatiently from the chaise and began to tread around
the room, doing his best to avoid the Oriental knickknacks stacked in
every corner. "That's my worst fear. Hasn't everything turned out his
way? After sixteen years of failed negotiations with Margaret, he's
finally gotten his foot in the door. But if shooting me full of black code
was Borda's way of getting me under his thumb, he went to some
pretty extraordinary lengths to pull off the bluff. If Borda knew I
wasn't in any danger, why did he order a legion of Council troops to
swarm all over the Surina compound and make all those threats? It just
doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps his henchman Lee ordered the attack without Borda's
knowledge."

"Maybe. Magan Kai Lee is a weasel. Who knows what that man is
capable of."

Vigal caressed his goatee thoughtfully. Natch could see a grand
topic of conversation sequestered behind that furrowed brow, waiting
for the right moment to spring. "I know this might sound absurd,"
said the neural programmer, "but have you considered the possibility
that Margaret Surina was behind this?"

Natch halted mid-pace and gave Vigal a look as if the caffeine had
addled his brain. "Margaret? Why? She brought me into this whole
mess in the first place."

"I don't know." The neural programmer finished his tea down to
the dregs and set the empty cup on a side table. "I really can't think of
a motive. But she certainly has the ability to create that kind of black
code-and plenty of people at her disposal to marshal a strike team.
And let us not forget that you've been conducting all these fiefcorp
meetings at the Enterprise Facility. She could very easily have put you
under surveillance."

Natch shook his head. "Margaret can't be too happy about my making a deal with Len Borda so quickly, but I'm not sure she even
knows about it yet." Brone's words echoed in his mind: Certainly you
must know by now that Margaret isn't dealing in good faith with you. What
happens when Margaret Surina grows tired of you, as she surely will? Natch
thought back to that conversation and barely stopped himself from
kicking over Vigal's ceramic tea service in anger. "I wonder what Margaret's going to do. I can't believe she's just going to sit up in that
tower and forget about MultiReal."

"Yet, that appears to be what she is doing."

The two remained silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. Natch
moved to the window to watch the pre-dawn lights from Omaha's
gambling quarter. Behind him, he could hear the neural programmer
delicately crack his knuckles in preparation for a strenuous lecture.

"Natch, do you remember what that capitalman once told you
about the natural wants of the universe?" the neural programmer burst
out suddenly.

"Figaro Fi," Natch replied. "Everything that asshole said is permanently stuck in my head. The universe just won't stay still. It wants to
move; even its smallest particles want to be in motion."

"Have you ever thought," said Vigal hesitantly, "about whether the
universe wants you to succeed?"

The laughter came bubbling out of Natch like a hot spring. "What
a silly thing to say! Do you think the Demons of the Aether are out to
get me?"

"Demons of the Aether?"

"You know, those old stories about bio/logic programs that come
alive ... and turn on their masters!" The fiefcorp master raised his hands
in mock horror as he pantomimed the old dramas, the trite serials that
used to exploit fears of the Autonomous Revolt. "So you think I was
attacked by ghosts in Shenandoah. Is that it, Vigal?"

His old mentor smiled good-naturedly and rolled his eyes. "No,
no, no, I didn't mean it that way. The Data Sea isn't conjuring up evil robots to interfere with your sales demos. There's a depressingly
human explanation behind that black code incident, even if we haven't
been able to figure out what it is."

"So what do you mean?"

Vigal ducked his head shyly and plowed on, his eyes glued to the
carpet. "I mean that the world runs by natural laws, Natch. Just as
there are laws of physics and thermodynamics and gravity, there are
laws of social dynamics too. Laws of humanity. Figaro Fi was right: the
universe does push and pull you in certain directions, but that doesn't
mean it wants you to succeed. For thousands of years, we've been
telling tales about the dangers that befall people who accomplish too
much. Why? Because those tales have an underlying truth: power
unbalances the natural energy of the world.

"Stop chuckling! I'm quite serious. You follow the bio/logic markets, don't you? You see this happen every day. A business triumphs
over its rivals and gets stronger. Others become jealous and resentful.
Eventually, the company's enemies conspire together to bring it down,
or it rots from within. It's the same thing that happens with animals
... plants ... trees. Why? Because there's some mystical force guiding
our actions? No, because too much power concentrated in one place
creates stasis. And stasis is anathema to a universe that desires constant
motion and change."

Natch grimaced and tugged at his hair, but there was more annoyance than anger in his voice. "Vigal, you can be so frustrating sometimes!" he protested. "All this nonsense about what the universe
wants-you're worse than all the creed bodhisattvas put together!
Why do you have to make some kind of-of fairy tale out of this whole
thing? I'm just a businessman trying to sell some programs. That's
all."

The neural programmer gave a self-deprecating shake of the head.
"All right, you want more down-to-earth advice? Sheldon Surina once
said, Practice should not precede theory. Savor your moment of triumph and don't do anything rash."

"If I never did anything rash, I'd still be coding RODs."

"All I'm saying is that Margaret worked on MultiReal for sixteen
years without bringing it to market. She must have had her reasons.
You've had control of the program for less than a week and you're ready
to sell it to everyone from here to Furtoid."

"That's called capitalism, Vigal. What do you want me to do? If I
don't keep moving, someone else will just snap up MultiReal and do
the same thing."

All at once, Serr Vigal looked weary and old. He shrank deeper into
his chair as if trying to will himself into the seams of the fabric. "I
think you're too young to understand this. The natural wants of the
universe do not work in our favor, Natch. Autumn always follows
summer. Everything dies. You may be on top of the world now, but
you cannot stay there forever. The world is not kind to conquerors."

The fiefcorp master stood at the window, facing the sunset with a
gladiator's belligerent stare. He could feel faint echoes of death emanating from the black code inside him. But during the past twentyfour hours, he had found a new confidence flowering beside the dread,
a confidence fertilized by desire and sprouted from fear. He had seriously expected to be dead by now, and the fact that he was still living
and breathing and staring out Vigal's window gave him hope.