The Beam: Season Three (5 page)

“I’m concerned about my mother’s health.”
 

Clive actually laughed. “No, you aren’t. Just because you haven’t been in my office before today doesn’t mean I don’t know you, Micah. I remember ages ago, when your grandfather moved Ryan into the Yukon, I’d come to your house and — ”
 

Micah cut him off. During the years about which Clive was about to wax nostalgic, Micah and Isaac had been in their twenties, but Clive’s tone suggested he was taking Micah’s seeming age today at face value and was picturing the two boys as toddlers playing with blocks.
 

“Not
that
kind of concerned,” Micah said. “I meant in terms of tidying affairs. I somehow doubt the most important things she might leave hanging if something happens to her are written in her will.”
 

“She’s left other plans in place for above-and-beyond matters. It’s not all with her attorney and will.”
 

“Like what?”
 

Clive half smiled. So much for sniffing around Panel’s edges. Micah was going to be cockblocked before he got close. “What needs to be addressed has been addressed.”
 

“I don’t even know everything she has her hands in,” Micah said, keeping his voice casual, trying to pretend his question had been general rather than prying into the forbidden topic. “She’s on dozens of committees throughout the party —
both
parties, maybe, through avatars. There’s the whole of Ryan Enterprises…”
 

“But you’re already running Ryan, Micah. She and I have discussed it. You and Isaac will each inherit half, but you alone will be the decision maker. You’ll do what you’re doing now. Rachel’s only instructions are that you let Isaac feel he has some control over the company’s direction, even though he’ll have none. The only change from now to then is that your credit balance will grow much larger.”
 

Clive crossed one leg over the other, sitting back. Now that he’d told Micah what he already knew (and what he could have reminded Micah of over a voice call), he was waiting patiently for his visitor to find his balls and cut to the chase. Obviously, legal matters weren’t what had caused Micah to request the meeting, and his pretense was an insult to them both.
 

“If that same number of credits dropped into someone else’s account,” Micah said, “what would happen? In terms of their social status.”
 

Clive uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.

“What do you mean?”
 

“I have some people asking me about Beau Monde. People who have been knocking on the door for a long time. I think if they don’t get the flag, we risk losing them.”
 

Micah sat back as Clive moved farther forward. He finally had Clive’s attention and was again feeling some of his usual composure. Everything had been carefully phrased: the assertion that people were asking about Beau Monde, which wasn’t something anyone really talked about because it was all rumor. The assertion that they’d asked
Micah
, which put him in a position of power and implied authority. The way he’d casually mentioned the trailing identifier appended to Beau Monde Beam IDs — a tidbit that even the Beau Monde itself wasn’t supposed to know. And lastly, the way Micah had asked Clive about any of it — discussing highest-level information, bonding the two men together in shared conspiracy.
 

“And who would these people be?” Clive asked.
 

“Nicolai Costa. And a…another friend of mine.”
 

At the mention of Costa, Clive sat back. He looked surprised in a specific way. Few people outside of Panel knew the secret importance of Nicolai Costa. Micah wanted Nicolai because of his role in making the modern Beam possible, but based on Clive’s eyes, it seemed Nicolai had deep meaning to Panel, too.
 

“Costa came to you? Asking about Beau Monde?”
 

“Indirectly.”
 

“And what’s your question about credits?”
 

“My credit balance is already enormous. Getting more won’t make me Beau Monde because I’m already Beau Monde. But what about Nicolai? What if he got the same windfall?”
 

“Are you considering giving Costa your inheritance?”
 

“I’m asking how it happens. How Beau Monde status is conferred. I’m asking if it’s simply a matter of wealth. Because Nicolai isn’t the only person who seems to have enough yet hasn’t moved up. Or
been
moved up.”
 

“I will inquire,” said Clive, not at all answering the question.
 

“And for me,” said Micah. “Inquire for me.”
 

“You’re already Beau Monde.”
 

Micah gave Clive a long look. He didn’t mean Beau Monde. He meant what stood above it.
 

“Who makes the decision?” Micah asked instead.

“It’s complicated.”
 

“There are too many for your group to handpick them all. Even if Beau Monde is the top 1 percent, 1 percent of the NAU is still a lot of people.”
 

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”
 

Clive watched him, assessing. Micah watched him back.
 

“Was that all?” Clive didn’t rise from his chair, but the meeting had apparently reached a stalemate.
 

“There’s one more thing,” Micah answered.
 

Clive waited for him to continue.
 

“My job has been complicated lately, thanks to events nobody’s bothered to inform me about.”
 

Clive nodded. “Okay.”
 

“I understand there are limits to what you can share. But we’re all in this together, and we both know a lot of the supposed
inter-party feuding
is just for show, to energize Shift and make it seem to matter.”

“It does matter,” said Clive.
 

“In terms of the Senate balance, yes. But for the people, it’s just smoke and mirrors. Putting on a good show.”
 

Clive looked like he might pretend to feel differently but decided not to insult Micah by doing so.
 

“Maybe this all happened because you wanted a genuine reaction out of Enterprise. Meaning: a genuine reaction out of
me
, since the sheets care more about covering me than the president. But what you may be missing is that now that the Prime Statements are over, I’ve been given no direction as to my response.”
 

“What are you talking about, Micah?”
 

“Mindbender. You could have told me Carter Vale was planning to dig up that old chestnut. It’s not just my high-profile Enterprise role to consider. I also have a large stake at Xenia.”
 

“You’re misunderstanding, Micah. Nobody knew Vale was planning to promise a return to work on Project Mindbender — to promise that Directorate members would be able to access it as part of their services package if it ever gets finished. That took all of us by surprise.”
 

“Vale just came up with it on his own? Totally rogue?”
 

“Maybe you should ask your brother. He’s unofficial head of Directorate.”
 

Micah almost laughed. Isaac didn’t know strategy even at peak form, and he was far from his best self now. He and Natasha were somewhere between their normal acrimonious, bitchy selves and a gross version of twisted in love. Micah, who knew the whole story from both ends, was in a unique position to both pity and be disgusted by the couple. Isaac had re-won Natasha’s admiration by saving her from a siege that he himself had caused. Natasha had folded right back into the arms of a man she’d disrespected for years — but she likewise hadn’t backed away from either her decision to shift, her emasculating comeback concert, or her PR campaign with Isaac’s failings at its center. They were two people dancing with knives at each other’s backs. The sex, if it was happening, would probably peel paint. Or cause paint to leap off the walls in embarrassment and shame.
 

“Isaac doesn’t have any idea what’s happening,” said Micah.

“You’re sure?”
 

Micah leaned in. “Do you know something?”
 

Clive leaned back, shrugging.

“So Vale’s proposal was of the blue.”
 

“As far as anyone seems to know without quizzing Vale, yes.”
 

“What’s being done about it?”
 

“Done?”
 

Micah tried to decide if he wanted to voice his certainty that Panel, like Micah himself, sometimes ordered problems solved in lethal ways. Instead, he said, “Does what Vale said mean anything at all? Are there competing labs looking into Mindbender-type research? Was something leaked from Xenia?”
 

“Relax, Micah. He’s dusting off an old idea and throwing research appropriations at it. They’ll spend trillions trying to make a square peg fit a round hole, and then they’ll give up while Xenia’s progress on the real Mindbender continues unimpeded. It’s a pipe dream.”
 

“Do you think he believes what he said? Vale, I mean?”

“Vale is as bright eyed and naive as they come. I imagine he still believes in the Tooth Fairy.”
 

Micah sat back, feeling heavy. Clive gave a little wave, dismissing it all as
c’est la vie
.
 

“Spice of life. And to think, we were so sure Enterprise would take the Senate this year.”
 

“You don’t think we will?” It hurt to hear Clive say it, even though Micah had more or less calculated the same thing. Whether Panel had orchestrated Vale’s announcement or not, the idea of suffering another term of Directorate Senate majority — especially after he’d spent months believing the opposite — felt like a ton of bricks on his back.
 

Clive laughed. “Of course not. The Senate will remain Directorate. Vale has pulled the most precious of tricks. He’s given the population something they can both aspire to and believe. The Mindbender pipe dream is real enough to have a kernel of far-fetched truth yet lofty enough to inspire the lowest people to new heights. As far as they
can
climb to heights, anyway. Starving Enterprise will shift to Directorate so they can be a part of it. Only those who truly deserve to be in Enterprise will stay.” The last should have been both self-evident, but Micah took it as an insult to his party’s promise.

Clive saw Micah’s annoyed expression and stood. Micah, sensing the meeting’s end — without conclusion or anything learned, of course — stood as well.

“It’s fine, Micah. Don’t worry about Vale. Don’t worry about Mindbender. Or Shift. Or the Senate. We’ll adapt. We always do.”
 

“We?” Micah wasn’t sure what the pronoun referred to.

“Your future is in good hands. I’ll just say that.”
 

Micah felt like Clive was tossing him a bone. Part of him wanted to reject the platitude because it felt like pandering, and Micah Ryan didn’t need pandering. But the simple sentence still made something inside him stand at attention.
 

Your future is in good hands.
 

Clive didn’t wink. But it was close.
 

Micah suppressed a smile. He nodded briefly instead, shook Clive’s offered hand in what seemed to be parting, and turned toward the door.
 

“Micah,” Clive called from behind him.
 

Micah turned.
 

“You asked about Beau Monde. About status for Nicolai and…” he gave a tiny little smile, as if he knew something, “…others.”
 

“Yes?”
 

“There’s too much information for that to be a handmade process. You’re right about that. But it’s controlled. It has to be.”
 

“So it’s AI. AI makes the decisions.”
 

“AI proposes candidates, but they must be greenlit. And even AI must follow an algorithm. A lot of it is about wealth. But there
is
more.”
 

Micah watched Clive, waiting for more.
 

“Maybe you could tell me what you’re talking about,” he said.
 

“That’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss,” Clive said. “But if I were you — in your unique, in-between position, on the cusp of something but not quite inside — I’d follow the wealth to find your answer.”
 

“What the hell does that mean, Clive?”
 

“Talk to someone who works with credits and exchange. Who writes conversion algorithms. The kind of person who might be able to write the rules for AI then greenlight or veto its suggestions.”
 

Wheels turned in Micah’s head. Something was
almost
clicking.
 

“And in unrelated matters,” Clive went on, “I imagine I’ll see you soon, at Craig Braemon’s pre-Shift event.”