Geosynchron (44 page)

All this drama was only a prelude to the imminent arrival of Natch.

The entrepreneur's shuttle from 49th Heaven was expected to
touch down any minute. Horvil, Serr Vigal, and Richard Taylor were
said to be with him. Jara herself was anxious to see Horvil again, but
almost everyone else in the room seemed to have some grievance with
Natch that needed settling.

The door opened an hour later to reveal Natch, along with Vigal
and Taylor and a handful of Islander security personnel in olive green
uniforms. The world at large did not know that Natch had returned,
and Magan was sparing no effort to keep it that way. Some in this very
room had only found out a couple hours ago. The last thing they
needed was a pack of predatory drudges dogging the entrepreneur's
every movement.

Jara was amused to see everyone slowly gravitate in Natch's direction without trying to appear too anxious. She herself only had eyes for
the plump engineer whom she had not seen in two weeks. Horvil
quickly spotted her, edged around Frederic Patel without making eye
contact, stopped for a quick hug from Benyamin, and then was at her
side. The two of them scooted out into the hallway without being
noticed, where they shared a tired and not particularly passionate kiss.

"Remind me never to do that again," said Horvil with a groan.

"49th Heaven?"

"Oh no, I'd do 49th Heaven again. Fascinating place. I'm talking
about traveling with Vigal and Richard Taylor."

Jara smiled, tried to comb the engineer's ruffled hair with her fingers. "So did Taylor ever deliver his message?"

"He did," replied Horvil with a shrug. "No idea what he said to
Natch. Neither of 'em will tell me. Whatever the message was, looks
like Natch did take it seriously. He's been acting pretty subdued ever
since."

"Hmm."

When Jara made it back into the chamber a few minutes laterwithout Horvil, who absconded to her hotel room for some muchneeded sleep-Natch was still the center of attention. He was making
his way around the room, spending two to three minutes with
everyone as if running through items on a checklist. Jara took the
opportunity to study the entrepreneur as he stood holding a terse conversation with Khann Frejohr.

The last Jara had seen Natch, he was a scarecrow of a human being:
gaunt, trembling from head to toe, eyes blackened and perpetually
focused on nothingness. He was no longer that creature. But nor had
he returned to the brilliant arrogance and insolent command of his fiefcorp days. Natch seemed in the process of metamorphosing into a different person altogether. His eyes were in that hazy half-colored state
that eyes got right after you changed entries in your personal preferences database. His hair was similarly sandy blond at the roots and
blackened up above. This new Natch was intense but quiet, thoughtful
but humorless. Jara found it baffling that she had had such an unrelenting sexual obsession with this man for months. Not that he wasn't
still physically attractive, but his focus seemed so ... ethereal ... that
carnal emotions hardly seemed to apply.

He approached Jara. "Jara," he said in greeting, with a slight
incline of his head.

"Natch," replied the fiefcorp master, tipping her head in kind.

"I've been hearing good words from Petrucio about your work with
the fiefcorp since I left," said Natch.

"From Petrucio? Really?" Jara couldn't help but be perplexed,
though she couldn't see any reason why the entrepreneur would lie about something like this. She cast a glance around to see the expression on
Petrucio's face, but he had already left and taken Frederic with him.

"He was very impressed with the way you handled the negotiations
about the MultiReal choice cycles. And from what he said, he thought
you acquitted yourself well at the trial in Andra Pradesh."

Jara nodded. What kind of conversation was this? What did
Petrucio Patel have to do with all that had gone on between them? The
years of manipulation, the thousands of hours of late-night engineering
and analysis, her furious denunciation of him in Berilla's office, the
quibbling over choice cycle schemas in the MultiReal program from
afar. It all seemed like ancient history, but that didn't mean she
couldn't still feel the sting.

"I thought I should let you know," said Natch, his eyes never
wavering from hers, "that I have no intention of rejoining or interfering
with the fiefcorp. As far as I'm concerned, you're the fiefcorp master now,
free and clear. And if you need any help from me to make that transition
fully legal in the eyes of the Meme Cooperative, let me know."

Jara wanted to ask him whether he felt the need to apologize for
his behavior over all those years. She wanted to ask what exactly he had
been up to on 49th Heaven-the vague stories she had heard about
battling black code gangs seemed unlikely, bordering on absurd. She
wanted to ask exactly what had happened to him in Old Chicago, what
his relationship with Brone was, why and how the MultiReal program
had ended up in the bodhisattva's hands. She wanted to ask what kind
of message a stranger from the Pharisee Territories could possibly have
for him that would keep his interest.

But she did none of those things. Instead, she asked, "So what will
you do after all this is over with?"

Natch shrugged. "I'll do whatever I have to do," he said. And then,
with a curt bow, he was gone.

30

Magan Kai Lee was in a reflective mood.

He stood next to the Islander conference table and scrutinized the
mural on the wall with a critical eye, wondering who had painted it
and, equally as important, who had commissioned it. On first glance,
one could mistake the work for a straightforward piece of propaganda
or patriotism. The members of the Band of Twelve, standing selfimportantly in the midst of the City Center, stretching their arms out
to the skies as they espoused the ideals of the Free Republic.

But Magan knew something about art from his teenage days in the
gullies and gutters of Beijing, the old sections of the city that had once
been ravaged by the Autonomous Minds. Close inspection revealed
that several members of the Band had expressions of covert cynicism
on their faces, while others seemed to be concealing bulky objects in
their pockets. Weapons? Treepaper documents? Magan supposed
someone more schooled in the history of the Pacific Islands would recognize the iconography. Nevertheless, the painting gave him an
impression of lingering skepticism and creeping doubt in the principles of the Islanders.

It was not so different from the feeling of unease coming from the
group assembled before him around the massive oak conference table.
My own Band of Eighteen, thought Magan.

Seated closest to him were his most trusted aides, the two who had
stood by him even under heavy dart fire on the floor of the Tul Jabbor
Complex. On Magan's immediate right was the Blade, Chief Solicitor
Rey Gonerev, her manner businesslike and her hair done up in elaborate braids. Seated to Magan's left was his chief engineer, Papizon,
oddly aloof and untouched by the hectic events of the past few months.

Down the left side of the table were Merri, still sullen about the violation of her truthtelling oath; Benyamin, keen and alert and ever
ready to act the skeptic; the engineer Horvil, whose sunny disposition
more than counterbalanced his cousin's dourness; the fiefcorp master
Jara, laser-focused as always; the channeler Robby Robby, not quite as
serious but just as focused; the Pharisee Richard Taylor, clearly bewildered and out of his element; and the venerable, if unassuming, neural
programmer Serr Vigal.

On the right side of the table sat Frederic Patel, still raw from
some apparent grievance with his brother; Petrucio Patel, too preoccupied with his failed mission to pay Frederic much heed; Speaker of the
Congress of L-PRACGs Khann Frejohr, looking uncharacteristically
subdued himself; the Islander Quell, his demeanor a strange mixture
of grimness at the situation and joy at being reunited with family; his
son Josiah, looking every bit the statesman and Surina his mother was;
Bali Chandler, always the free spirit, even in crisis; and General
Cheronna, taciturn commander of the Islander forces, looking just as
discomfited as the Pharisee but for different reasons.

At the opposite end of the table from Magan sat Natch, unnervingly calm and distant.

Here sat the main actors in the MultiReal drama that had unfolded
over the past few months. The ones largely responsible for the dangerous situation the world now faced, and fate willing, the ones who
would see it through to the other side.

Magan turned away from the mural to the group assembled at the
table.

"When Len Borda took office at the turn of the century," said the
lieutenant executive, "he inherited a group of advisors known as the
Inner Council. According to tradition, these men and women would
stay on to help the new high executive during his first months in office.
A way to provide continuity between administrations. It's said that the
Inner Council provided crucial support to High Executive Borda in
those early days.

"Then Marcus Surina died, and the economy went into freefall. Len
Borda proposed stimulating the economy through massive military
spending. The Inner Council strongly disagreed. Angered by their
insubordination, the high executive dissolved the Inner Council.

"This pattern has continued throughout the current administration. Conformity of thought valued over dissenting opinion. Loyalty to
narrow political interest instead of loyalty to principle.

"So let this conference today be symbolic of the diversity of
opinion that I will bring back to the Defense and Wellness Council, if
I'm fortunate enough to prevail in my struggle. Consensus through
rational discussion; opposing viewpoints given full and open recognition; no one ever castigated for speaking honestly.

"I've brought you all here today because I need your advice. I need
your wisdom. Final decisions on the actions of the Council rest with
me and me alone, but I would prefer them to be informed decisions.
In this room, you may speak your mind freely and without fear.

"Let us begin."

Seventeen voices murmured their assent.

Rey Gonerev began with a summary of the rebellion against Len
Borda.

"We have made some progress in the past few weeks," said the
Blade. "Thanks to the smart diplomacy of the Islanders and the smart
consulting work of Jara's company, we now have a base here in Manila
behind the unconnectible curtain. Since the publication of Josiah's
manifesto on the Data Sea, Borda has been hemorrhaging public support. Morale among his troops is down, the governmentalist drudges
are laying low, and even the Congress of L-PRACGs has thrown its
support behind Magan."

"To be clear," interrupted Khann Frejohr, insinuating his arm onto the table to catch Gonerev's attention, "the Congress doesn't officially
support anything. I was able to push through that statement about
addressing grievances, and I've come here at Magan's request. But just
because I distrust Borda's intentions doesn't mean I've signed on to
Magan's."