River of Blue Fire (64 page)

“But these people from the Circle,” the beetle pushed on, “they are our sworn enemies! They have wormed their way into the network—why could it not be them? They are antitechnologists, socialists and ideologues, opposed to everything we are trying to do!” He was almost yelping. Yacoubian knew that Kliment of all people had reason to agonize over the delays. The general's intelligence told him that the organ-market privateer was in a hospital in Paraguay, his body so riddled with a particularly virulent mutant cancer that transplants and chemotherapy were no longer holding it at bay.

“We are all of us powerful people,” said Osiris, his tone making it clear that, as everyone already knew, Kliment was perhaps the least powerful of their number. “We do not need to pretend to care about ideologies. In fact, even if these people and their Circle organization carried certified proof they were Angels of the Lord, I would still sweep them from my path. No obstacle will keep me from the Grail.

“But the truth is, they are nothing. They are petty anarchists and God-botherers, the kind of trash you find howling on soapboxes in public parks, or handing out soiled leaflets in front of train stations. Yes, a few of them have crept into the network, but so what? Just a few days ago, I captured one sneaking across one of my domains. He is being made to talk, I promise you. But he has said nothing that gives me even a moment's worry—he and the other scum do not even know exactly what the Grail Project is. Now, dear Khepera, please stop wasting my time.”

Kliment sat down heavily. If a lacquer-shiny insect face could be said to wear the expression of a scolded child, his did. Everyone knew that the South American was one of Jongleur's most ardent supporters—what could the Old Man be thinking?

“You have not responded to me yet, Chairman,” said yellow-faced Ptah. “At a time when many in the Brotherhood are nervous about their investment, about the delays, can't you relax your rules a little? I know I for one would feel a lot better if I could actually work with the operating system that maintains our whole network.”

“I am sure that you would. Yes, I am certain that you would love to have it in your control,” said Osiris stiffly. He turned to the others, birds and beasts arrayed around the long table. “This man has already tried once to take control of the Brotherhood. Just a few weeks ago, you all saw the Americans make a false accusation against me—an accusation of something which proved to stem from an error in this man's own company, a frightening breach of security!” He pushed himself back from the table, shaking his huge, bemasked head, giving every impression of a noble monarch betrayed by the thankless minions of his own court. “And yet here it is again—my fault! Everything is my fault!” He turned on Wells. “You, and your unusually quiet friend,” he darted a dead-eyed glance at Yacoubian, “have constantly questioned my devotion to the project—I, who conceived it and began it! You wish me to give up control of the operating system, and then trust you, Robert Wells, to respect my position as chairman? Ha!” He thumped a hand down on the table and several of the beast masks twitched. “You would be at my throat in a second, you treasonous cur!”

As Wells spluttered—rather convincingly, Yacoubian thought—Jiun Bhao in his guise of ibis-headed Thoth rose to his feet. “This is not civil.” His calm tones did little to hide his distaste. “We do not speak in this way to each other. It is not civil.”

The Old Man looked at him, a little wildly, and for a moment it seemed he might say something rude to the Chinese magnate as well, a flirtation with political suicide so breathtaking that even Yacoubian found himself staring, openmouthed. Instead, Osiris finally said: “Our god of wisdom has proved the aptness of my choice of persona for him. You are right, sir. I was uncivil.” He turned toward Wells, whose yellow smile he must have found galling, but now he was all correctness. “As our associate points out, I have been rude, and for that I apologize. However, I would like to add that you, too, have been inconsiderate in your remarks, Ptah, when you suggest that I am hiding something from my colleagues.”

Wells bowed, a shade mockingly. Yacoubian was suddenly unsure where things were going. The old bastard wasn't going to get away with it again, was he?

“Just a minute,” Yacoubian said. “There are still questions to answer here. Bob says the problems in the system aren't all because of the size of it. He says it's the operating system. You say ‘none of your business.' Then how do we get some goddamn answers?”

“Ah, Horus, monarch of the skies,” said the Old Man, almost fondly. “You were silent so long, I feared we had lost you offline.”

“Yeah, right. Just tell me how we can make sure this whole thing isn't going to come crashing down around our ears.”

“This is becoming tiresome,” Osiris began, then ram-headed Amon, the owner of six Swiss banks and an island “republic” off the coast of Australia, raised his hand.

“I would like to know more about this, too,” he said. “My system tells me that there are regular breakdowns of the machinery in all my domains. We all have more than money invested here, and soon we will have
everything
invested in this project, including our lives. I believe we are due better information.”

“See?” Yacoubian wanted the Old Man to squirm some more—there was no telling when he would be this vulnerable again. He turned to Wells to solicit his help. “I think we should have the whole thing out now. Start talking plain facts.”

“Stop,” said Osiris, his voice tight.

Wells, much to Yacoubian's astonishment, said, “Yes, I think you should leave it alone, Daniel.”

If Sekhmet the lioness heard him, she did not seem to agree. “I demand to know what is wrong,” she snarled, “and I demand to know how it is going to be fixed.” The owner of Krittapong, a technology firm only slightly less powerful than Wells' Telemorphix, and a woman whose name was whispered in respectful horror throughout the secret slavery bureaus of Southeast Asia—she had beaten more than a few servants to death with her own hands—Dedobravo was not good at being patient. “I demand answers now!”

“I will personally assure . . .” Osiris began, but now it was Sobek again, his crocodile snout wagging.

“You cannot take our money and then tell us we have no rights!” he bellowed. “It is criminal!”

“Are you insane, Ambodulu?” Osiris was visibly trembling. “What are you babbling about?”

The entire gathering seemed about to plunge into screaming chaos when Jiun Bhao raised his hand. Gradually, the voices quieted.

“This is not the way to do business,” Jiun said, slowly shaking his bird-head from side to side. “Most distressing. Not acceptable.” He paused and looked around. The silence held. “Comrade Chairman, several of our membership have asked for more information about these . . . what was the word? . . . these ‘spasms' in the system. Surely you do not object to such a reasonable request?”

“No.” Osiris had calmed. “Of course not.”

“Then perhaps by the time of our next meeting, you could promise them some kind of report? With all respect to your very busy schedule, it would be a useful antidote to some of the overly emotional responses we have seen today.”

The Old Man hesitated for only a moment. “Certainly. That is eminently fair. I will have something prepared.”

“Something
useful
,” said Yacoubian, and immediately wished he hadn't. The force of Jiun Bhao's irritated stare, even through a virtual interface, was unsettling.

“And,” the god of wisdom continued, now speaking to Wells, “perhaps our American comrade could have something similar prepared, detailing what he knows of the problems from his end?”

“Certainly.” The yellow smile was ever so slightly smaller than it had been.

“Excellent. Most kind.” Jiun Bhao sketched a bow—more a nod of the head—to both parties, and then spread his arms. “We have had a tiring day, and we have discussed many important things. Perhaps it is time to say farewell until our next gathering.”

Neither Osiris nor any of the others demurred.

Even as the Western Palace of the Old Man's Egypt winked out, Yacoubian heard Bob Wells' voice in his ear.

“
A word with you, Daniel
.”

The moment of darkness was followed by a flare of light as a vast, sunny room built itself in an instant, a high-ceilinged dining hall with a view through the massive windows to what Yacoubian guessed was the rocky Pacific coast. Despite the room's dimensions, there was only one compact table. Wells sat on one side of it, his sim a replica of his actual body with detail that was just a tiny bit short of Grail-system perfection.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” the general asked as he joined him. “Wouldn't you rather go somewhere in RL, like we did that other time?”

“Except for your line and my line, this is a dedicated machine, Daniel,” said Wells. “And I'll wipe the code after we've finished. Here, let me open it up.”

The windows dissolved, leaving nothing but air between the table and the sea below the cliffs. The roar rose until it filled the room. Without moving, Wells scaled it back until it was only a quiet pulse. The smell of the water and the ozone-tang were suitably convincing. “Better than a restaurant, don't you think?” the owner of Telemorphix asked. “Although if you'd like something to pretend with, a drink or something, let me know.”

“I'll just smoke,” said Yacoubian. “Since this is your place, I'm sure you can make sure the fumes don't blow in your direction.” The general took out one of his Enaqueiros. He had spent rather a lot of money making sure the simulation performed properly; as he drew this one beneath his nose, savoring the aroma, he felt once again it had been money well spent. These techno-barons might be able to rebuild Babylon for you brick by brick, but try and get a decent virtual cigar. . . .

After the general had patted his pockets without result for a few moments, Wells raised an eyebrow, then moved his finger. A box of matches appeared in front of his companion.

“So why didn't you jump on the Old Man?” Yacoubian demanded when he had got the cigar drawing nicely. “It's not like you, Bob. He was on the defensive—a few more shots and he would have lost it entirely.”

Wells turned from his survey of the ocean. His eyes, with their strange, antiqued-looking whites, were mild, almost empty. He didn't speak for a long time. “I'm trying to think of a nice way to put this, Daniel,” he said finally. “But I can't. You know, sometimes you are incredibly stupid.”

Yacoubian belched out pseudo-smoke, which imitated the real thing very well, rising above his head in a billowing blue-gray cloud. When he had caught his breath again, he gasped, “What kind of bullshit is that? You can't talk to me that way.”

“Of course I can, Daniel. And, present irritation aside, I still think you're smart enough to listen to me and learn something.” Wells fanned reflexively at the smoke, prim as a dowager. “Yes, if we had pushed the Old Man a bit farther, he probably would have said or done something that would have lost him the rest of the Brotherhood's good will. Which is why I did nothing, and why I tried to give you some useful advice about doing the same, Daniel, which you ignored.”

“Listen, Bob, I don't care how rich or how old you are. People don't talk to me that way.”

“Maybe they should, Daniel. It can't have escaped your notice how Jiun Bhao took control of the meeting there at the end. And what, thanks to you and that Dedoblanco bitch pushing too hard, is the result? We're going to have to match reports on these system problems at the next meeting.”

“So?” Yacoubian had the cigar burning fiercely now, jutting erect in his line of sight, obliterating Wells' face in a red glow with each inhalation.

“So, who do you think is going to judge whether either answer is acceptable? Gracefully, quietly, that Chinese bastard is going to make himself the unelected chairman, and he'll show the rest of the group how to vote. If he hands the reins back to the Old Man, Jongleur will owe him. If he hands them to us, and pushes Jongleur onto the sideline, we're in a
de facto
coalition with Jiun—but only so long as he finds us useful.”

Yacoubian knew he was sulking, but was reluctant to give it up for something more useful. “I thought you wanted the Old Man out.”

“No, Daniel, I wanted me in. There's a difference. And don't forget, Jongleur's still holding a few cards of his own, like that goddamned operating system which no one else ever gets to touch—if we blunder into some three-way struggle with him and Jiun, it's going to be very bloody. And I doubt we'll win.”

“Jesus.” Yacoubian sat back, still angry but now depressed, too. “You people.”

“What does that mean, ‘you people'? You were the one who came to me in the first place about edging the Old Man out. ‘We don't need him any more, Bob. He's unstable. Foreign.' Have you forgotten already?”

“Enough, already.” Yacoubian acknowledged defeat with a wave of his hand. One thing he had learned in his career was that when the situation became untenable, it was a waste of time to dick around trying to save face. “So what do we do?”

“I don't know.” Wells sat forward. The noise of the sea dropped another notch, although beyond the windows it was still active as ever, throwing itself against the rocks like a jilted lover. “The fact is, Daniel, I'm worried. These spasms really are a problem. None of my people can make sense of them at all, but even our cloudiest projections don't look good. And there are other things happening, too, as you know—some very bad results on the client nodes, the lease-properties and whatnot. That Kunohara fiasco.”

“Tell me about it. But I figured it was just because of the system going online—you know, a one-shot thing. You're saying it's bad trouble, huh? Do you think it could be related to that guy who got away into the system, the Old Man's prisoner? Is he some kind of saboteur?”