Geosynchron (9 page)

At Frederic.

The dart strikes Frederic right between the shoulder blades. There
isn't even time for the younger Patel to display a look of shock on his
face before he slumps to the floor.

6

Natch's feeling of cognitive dissonance only multiplies when Petrucio
Patel snaps the fingers on his right hand and makes the entire dungeon
vanish. One instant they're in an oppressive, dome-shaped chamber
with a radius of thirty meters; the next they occupy a ten-meter-square
storage room lined with shelving and assorted household objects.
Dusty furniture, gardening tools. Only the chair and side table remain.
SeeNaRee, thinks Natch, stunned from his near decapitation and
embarrassed it hasn't occurred to him he might be a captive in a virtual environment rather than a literal one.

He watches the sprawled figure of Frederic twitch and moan in
unconscious discomfort as Petrucio unties the ropes binding Natch to
the chair. Petrucio keeps the dartgun leveled at Natch's chest as he
motions for the entrepreneur to stand and move towards the door. Patel
clicks his tongue reproachfully at his insensible brother and retrieves the
katana before they leave. His expression is serene, but not untroubled.

They climb a flight of stairs and emerge in the first floor of a house
whose construction dates back hundreds of years, or at least it's been
built to look that way. They pass through a room full of kitschy memorabilia from ancient Japan, including a print of Hokusai's Great Wave,
porcelain geisha dolls, and a pair of katanas much like the one Petrucio
has under his armpit. The programmer deposits the sword on a table
and then gestures Natch out the back door.

They emerge in a drizzly countryside with no sign of other human
habitation for a kilometer or more. A dark green Falcon hoverbird sits
parked next to the building. Natch offers no resistance as Petrucio eggs
him through the hatch and then climbs aboard after him.

"Frederic not coming?" yawns a bored pilot almost thin enough to
get lost between the seats.

"He'll catch up with us later," replies Petrucio drily.

The pilot doesn't seem to care. "Ready?"

"Ready. And thanks again for letting us use the basement, Hiro.
We owe you one."

The pilot nods, yawns again, initiates the hoverbird's launch
sequence. Seconds later, they are off. Once they've climbed high
enough to see the surrounding territory, Natch starts scanning the
horizon for landmarks. He zooms in on the corroded husk of a building
far off in the distance, pointing to the heavens like a finger. Pinging
the Data Sea with the image, Natch confirms that this is the Banespa
Building of Sao Paulo, one of the tallest ancient skyscrapers still
standing. Petrucio, meanwhile, gazes nervously to both starboard and
port as the vehicle rises; he visibly relaxes when he determines there's
no one else around.

Natch is strapped into a chair opposite Petrucio, watching the
retreating fog-shrouded lights of the city. He can't say why he doesn't
fear the dartgun in Petrucio's hand, even though it remains aimed at
his head for the entire ascent. Nor does he understand why that head
is still seated firmly on his shoulders and not rolling on a cold tile floor
at Frederic Patel's feet. He reaches up and rubs the spot on his neck
where the cold steel of the blade touched his flesh. All he can think is
that he is glad to be alive.

Glad? Yes, definitely glad to be alive.

As soon as the 'bird levels off, Natch is astounded to see Petrucio
flipping his dartgun around and offering it to the entrepreneur grip
first. Natch reaches out hesitantly and lets Petrucio push it into his
hands.

He feels a mental ping. "We'll talk over ConfidentialWhisper, if
you don't mind," says Patel, arching his eyebrows in the direction of
the pilot. Probably a needless precaution; the rhythmic bobbing of the
thin man's neck hints that he is absorbed in some slow, sensuous
groove on the Jamm. Natch shrugs.

Petrucio leans back and stretches one arm over the seat next to
him. "There's three darts left in the gun," he says. "When we land on
the outskirts of Angelos, you're going to plug Hiro in the back once,
and then use the last two darts on me." His voice is disarmingly calm.
Up front, Hiro blithely runs a hand over the instrument panel, still
lost in his musical reverie. "Don't worry, it's nothing dangerous," continues Patel. "Temporary blackout. Same thing I used on Frederic."

The entrepreneur stares at the dartgun in his hand. Natch's
memory has sprouted a disconcerting number of leaks lately, but to the
best of his recollection he has never actually held a black code weapon
before. It's significantly lighter than he expected. "What makes you
think I'm going to do any of that?" he says.

"Because it'll give you a two-hour head start."

Natch frowns. "You're going to chase after me?"

"I won't. But Magan Kai Lee will. He's on his way to Sao Paulo
now, with Borda on his tail."

Natch leans forward in the seat and ducks his head under the
canopy of his clasped hands. He closes his eyes to block out the
dartgun in his lap and pictures the diminutive Council lieutenant.
Natch has always believed that human beings are constructed on scaffolds of emotion and irrationality, scaffolds that invariably have their
weak struts. He has built his career on this belief. But Magan Kai Lee
does not seem to have such an architecture; he's a man of rigid calculation all the way through. Natch tries to recall the first time he ever
saw the lieutenant, back when he was just another faceless minion of
Len Borda's ubiquitous military and intelligence force. He has a fleeting memory of Magan standing on the stage of a Council auditorium,
pointing out into the audience ... but no, the memory is gone now.

"What is he up to?" says Natch over ConfidentialWhisper. "What
does he want?"

Petrucio leans his head back to face the roof of the hoverbird and
closes his eyes, mimicking sleep. "He wants MultiReal."

"For his rebellion."

"I don't know for sure. But that's my worry, yes."

At first it seems ludicrous: why worry that someone might overthrow Len Borda? But then Natch thinks about the Council lieutenant
standing in the midst of the Prime Committee's auditorium, with the
power of MultiReal at his command. Unassailable, unconquerable.
And suddenly he can understand Petrucio's hesitation.

What does Magan Kai Lee represent? What are his aims and goals?
The man is accumulating a rebellion almost solely from the public's
hatred of Len Borda. His own beliefs remain an enigma. Does he support Islander sovereignty? What is his position on public funding of
TubeCo? Is he capable of balancing a budget? What will Magan Kai
Lee do with MultiReal, if he gets ahold of it? Would that be better or
worse than if Len Borda should get MultiReal in his possession? Natch
recalls the aphorism he has heard many times recently about the
wisdom of preferring the known enemy to the unknown enemy. The
world has suffered much under the stern rigidity of Len Borda-but is
replacing that rigidity with a blank cipher any less frightening?

And are either of these alternatives better than putting MultiReal
in the hands of Brone and his Thasselian disciples?

It's all too confusing, and not for the first time Natch wishes he
could return to that time of simpler loyalties. When he was merely an
entrepreneur looking out for his own ass, when his enemies announced
their intentions with press releases, when a single incontrovertible
authority filed winners and losers into slots of descending order every
hour.

"I don't understand why you're not handing me over to the
Council," says Natch over the silent channel. "I assumed you and Frederic were working for them."

"Honestly, so did we." Petrucio chuckles softly. "Shortly after Margaret recruited us to help her finish MultiReal, we signed another deal
with a faceless shell company. We were to continue our work with Margaret as agreed. But on the side, we were to construct MultiReal
prototype programs. Defensive programs, code named MultiReal-D.
The deal was negotiated, signed, and paid for by Magan Kai Lee from
an untraceable Vault account. We figured he was acting on behalf of
the Council."

"And it didn't bother you to go behind Margaret's back like that?"
says Natch, surprised at his accusatory tone.

Petrucio's lips curl into a half-smile. "It was a different world then.
A plum military contract with a big paycheck, no oversight, nobody
looking over our shoulders? Why not? I didn't really understand what
Margaret was building out there in Andra Pradesh, and neither did
Frederic. It didn't occur to us that Magan might be doing this behind
Borda's back. But now ..."

He pauses, but Natch does not need him to fill the gap. He knows
what MultiReal can do. Sometime in the past three months, the world
has been remolded.

Petrucio sits up and looks Natch straight in the eye with an
earnestness that's atypical for a Patel. "You and I are businesspeople,
Natch," he continues over the 'Whisper connection. "We're not kingmakers. Politics ... war ... madness and freedom ... it's not our
domain. And it certainly isn't Frederic's.

"Magan Kai Lee knew you'd turn up in Sao Paulo eventually. He
figured we'd have no problem handing you over to him. But that puts
me and Frederic in a very difficult position. If we hand you over to
Magan, his rebellion will be a fait accompli. If we allow you to fall into
Len Borda's hands, the rebellion will be crushed." Petrucio weighs
these two options with his hands on an imaginary balance scale. "We
can't keep you here forever; sooner or later Magan will come around
asking questions. But if you manage to escape ..."

Natch does not hesitate. "I'll disappear."

"Exactly. We tell Magan that you overpowered Frederic and took
his dartgun. That's not hard to believe. Then you kidnapped me and had me charter you a flight to Angelos. You completely vanish, and we
don't have to be responsible for what happens."

"And is Frederic on board with all this?"

"Frederic." Petrucio sighs dramatically and then rolls his eyes.
"Don't worry about Frederic-he'll see things my way, eventually."

"Assuming the Council doesn't kill him when they reach your
pilot's house."

"No, Borda and Lee will leave him alone. He's got nothing they
want." Patel stares at his hands, and Natch wonders if he's having
second thoughts about shooting his own brother in the back with
black code. "Frederic needs to realize that things have changed. The
world can sort out its own messes without us. And without MultiReal." He lapses into a moody silence as the South American continent
below disappears underneath a gray gauze of cloud.

Half an hour passes. Inside the hovercraft, there is no sound except for
the almost-undetectable tapping of Hiro's foot in time to the Jamm
channel that has enveloped his senses. Either the tempo has picked up
considerably, or he has switched channels to something more upbeat.
Natch wonders exactly how complicit this pilot is with Petrucio's
schemes. Complicit enough to let the Patels use his basement as a
makeshift prison, and then to fly their prisoner hundreds of kilometers
out of his way at a moment's notice. But does he know he's going to
get shot with black code when they arrive? Does he know the Defense
and Wellness Council could be at their heels? Natch supposes it's none
of his business; Petrucio is capable of sorting out his own personal
affairs.