The Beam: Season Three (38 page)

Micah didn’t actually want to do a magic trick, Isaac knew. He wanted to guilt Isaac into getting on stage then make
Isaac
look stupid for forcing
him
to do it.
 

Fucking Micah.
 

If there was any consolation in doing the trick (because he
had
to do it now; Natasha’s practice in the other room was driving the nails in deeper), it was in the reason this bullshit posturing was necessary in the first place: Micah wouldn’t feel the need to make Isaac look stupid if Isaac wasn’t on a plinth and, in Micah’s estimation, in need of being knocked down.
 

Isaac smiled. Despite all of Micah’s manipulating and scheming, Directorate was going to keep its Senate majority at Shift after all.
 

Isaac considered finding a mirror so he could look himself in the eyes and pump himself up, but it only took thirty seconds before he realized there was no point. He’d won. Micah could bluster all he wanted, but it was finally Isaac’s chance to be the bigger man. Isaac
never
got to be the bigger man because Isaac never won decisively enough to end up in a position to turn the other cheek.
 

There was a dinging sound. Isaac looked up.
 

“Canvas, what is it?”

The apartment’s canvas replied in its soft voice. “You have an incoming contact request, Isaac.”
 

“Put it on the wall here.”
 

“It’s not visual, Isaac. It’s — ”

“Okay. Go ahead with audio. Track and follow.”
 

The canvas waited a few polite seconds after Isaac’s interruption then finished its sentence. “The request is for an immersion.”
 

“I’m not immersing for a damned call.”
 

“I’m sorry, Isaac. The request is urgent.”
 

“Who is it?”
 

“Identification is secured. Would you like me to say it aloud?”
 

“Permission granted. Tell me.”
 

“The caller is Aiden Purcell.”
 

Isaac’s internal temperature seemed to plummet to absolute zero. He felt twin urges: to run to his rig as quickly and subserviently as possible, or to sprint to the docked hovercar and flee. The latter was childish and would solve nothing, but hearing from Aiden Purcell now felt like getting a ping from Satan, informing a sinner that it was time to hand over the soul previously exchanged for fame and fortune.
 

“What does he want?”
 

“I have no information on that, Isaac.”
 

“Ask him what this is regarding.”
 

The canvas went silent.
 

Isaac began to sweat. That had been a bad idea. It would change nothing; whatever Aiden wanted, he wanted. Purcell wasn’t the kind of person who felt the need to explain himself, either, and he’d resent the question. It would also show Isaac’s weakness. Purcell had made his fortune (not to mention snagging himself a position in the above-Beau-Monde group he and Micah both knew existed but neither of them were dumb enough to discuss) by gathering data and knowing how to see through people better than any scan could. Purcell would see the request as time-wasting procrastination. It wouldn’t improve the forthcoming encounter, whether Isaac wanted that encounter to happen or not.

Instead of replying with Purcell’s answer, Isaac’s canvas began behaving erratically. A few of the Beam surfaces flashed, and a cluster of holo-projectors began to rotate. There was a distinct shimmer in the air as a small cloud of hovernanos prepared a local projection, to give whatever was coming more clarity and reality.
 

A second later, Aiden Purcell appeared in the living room, sitting in one of Isaac’s chairs, more tangible than any hologram Isaac had ever seen.
 

“Have some dignity, Isaac.”

“I didn’t — ”

Purcell picked at something on the knee of his bespoke black trousers. “I try to be polite, but let’s not pretend you need to accept my calls for me to appear.”
 

Isaac, unsure what else to do, stepped closer. “Let’s take this into an immersion.”
 

“That was my thought as well. But now I’m here and don’t want to move.”
 

Isaac’s eyes ticked toward Natasha’s office. He had no idea how long she’d be in there, doing whatever secretive thing she was doing. “Natasha could hear us,” he said.

Purcell held up a hand. A cigarette appeared between two fingers. He took a puff. Holograms were just holograms, but Isaac could clearly smell the smoke.
 

“That would be a shame,” Purcell said.
 

“Please.”
 

Purcell pursed his lips. “Fine. But that’s two favors you owe me.”
 

When Purcell was gone, Isaac forced himself to move fast. So much for running from this meeting. His living room wasn’t a simulator, and yet the scent of smoke would assault Natasha the minute she emerged. He’d need to burn something when he was done with Purcell to cover. And if he ran, he’d discover what else of Isaac’s the man could get into without permission.
 

Like taking over his optical sensors.
 

Or becoming an internal voice, forever whispering in his ear.
 

Or maybe a virus, digging into the soft data of Isaac’s Beam presence.
 

Isaac jacked in, skipping all of the safety checks and every bit of the startup protocol he could bear to pass over. His entrance into the parlor simulation was so abrupt that his five senses screamed with vertigo. He staggered against the coffee table and had to catch himself by grabbing a bookcase.
 

Purcell was already seated, just as he’d been in the living room: lips slightly pursed, waiting for Isaac to move through his drunken idiocy and stop wasting his time.
 

“So,” the man in the dark suit said, puffing the same cigarette, “how are things with Natasha?”

“Fine,” Isaac stammered. He looked at the chairs. Was he supposed to sit? Was he
allowed
to sit? He honestly couldn’t remember most of his last meeting with Purcell. In his mind, he’d conducted the entire encounter on his knees, hat in hand, possibly offering to unzip the man’s fly and get to work.
 

“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, Isaac.”

“What do you mean?”
 

“You told me you wanted to disrupt Natasha’s concert because it was a threat to distribution of party power and sentiment. You didn’t tell me you planned to personally storm in and save the day.”
 

“I…I had to send in real insurgents. Two birds with one stone. And people who, after they were arrested, wouldn’t raise more questions with the police. They were a genuine threat. I had to do whatever was necessary to — ”

“Oh, stop it, Isaac. You’re embarrassing yourself. And insulting me. You didn’t
tell
me what you’d planned to do — storming in to save your wife like Galahad on a white horse — but that doesn’t mean I didn’t know. Your profile’s largest area of strength is insecurity. Do you know how phenomenally rare that is? You’re someone who’s managed to take your astonishing depth of weakness and make it your personal touchstone.”
 

“Thanks?”
 

Purcell puffed his cigarette. “It’s not a compliment.”
 

Isaac’s eyes flicked around, hands clasped at his waist, unsure what else to do with them.
 

“Oh, sit down. You’re making me sad.”
 

Isaac sat.
 

“The problem isn’t that you enlisted my help — ”

“I needed permission, not help.”
 

Purcell’s dark eyes moved from Isaac’s then back with a long enough pause to make Isaac physically shrink, almost becoming part of his chair’s digital leather.
 

“The problem isn’t that you enlisted my
help,”
Purcell repeated, “but that you didn’t tell me the true reasons for the stunt: to improve your standing in your wife’s eyes.”
 

“I — ”

“Relax. Like I said, I knew, and still gave my blessing.”
 

“Thank you. It’s better for the party when I have enough respect to lead pro — ”
 

“If you think I’m going to let you finish sentences now, you’re insulting me further.”

Isaac swallowed.
 

“What I’ll admit I
didn’t
see coming,” Purcell said, “was that Directorate — the party itself or its Czar of Internal Satisfaction — wouldn’t need any help this Shift.”

Isaac thought he was maybe supposed to respond but decided to spare himself the indignity of another interruption.
 

“How well do you know Carter Vale, Isaac?”
 

“Not that well. Not as well as you must.”
 

“Stop being so fucking servile, Isaac. I just asked a question.”
 

“I’ve met him. We’ve exchanged a few words. Not much more than that.”
 

“Hmm. Because there’s a problem with Vale that requires addressing.”

Isaac had thought of that. Privately — not even including the new and improved Natasha — he’d cheered Vale’s disruptive little coup at the Primes. But everyone else he knew, outside of party toadies, was walking around with a little black cloud overhead. Micah tried to keep his chest out and chin up, but Isaac could easily see how pissed off his younger brother was. Ditto Nicolai, whom he’d begged twice to return. He could even hear it in his mother’s raspy voice. Vale had shocked everyone and stolen an almost-certain victory from Enterprise. After Vale had dropped his bomb about a revitalized Project Mindbender, the idea of beem currency pulling everyone toward Enterprise seemed laughable.
 

“Okay,” Isaac said.
 

“Tell me, Isaac, are you planning to attend Craig Braemon’s Respero Event?”
 

“I’m — ”
 

“Of course you are. And you’re going to go along with Micah’s little stage show idea?”
 

“I think — ”

“Good, good. And Isaac?”
 

“Yes?”
 

“You’re proud of what you did to help Natasha, aren’t you? Not what you did to put her life at risk, but what you then did to save her from your own ineptitude?”
 

“Um. Yes?”

“Are you or aren’t you?”
 

“I guess.”
 

“Maybe I should talk to her about it, if you’re unsure. Tell her the story behind the story, as it were.”
 

Isaac didn’t know how to respond. No answer seemed correct. Fortunately, Purcell recrossed his legs and continued before he could.
 

“There are limitations to what I can do these days, unfortunately,” Purcell said, now flicking at the lid of a brass lighter Isaac hadn’t seen him pick up. “It’s true for all of us. But a good leader delegates regardless. And since you caused the problem with Vale, maybe it’s right that you do something for me.”
 

“I had nothing to do with — ”

“Your
party
, Isaac. Do you want to be a big man or not? Because you can’t have it both ways. You can’t defer responsibility and want credit for your accomplishments. You must take the good with the bad. The responsibility
and
the praise. Not everything can be like it was with Natasha, where you connive for a pat on the back. You want respect? I’ll tell you how to get it: Put your hands on the damned wheel, and steer the ship. Right now, the captain of Directorate’s ship is a rogue. Vale wasn’t given permission to announce what he did about Mindbender. The laugh is that he doesn’t know anything about the reality behind the project, which means the future course of actions could have easily been avoided.”

“What do you mean?”
 

Purcell smiled. “Mindbender is a real thing, Isaac. Micah knows that. Do you seriously not?”
 

He didn’t. “Of course I do. I just didn’t get what you were saying about it.”
 

“If Vale had promised Shangri-la and that had managed to sway the nation, he’d have been a rogue. But his actions have accidentally shone light on a real project of grave importance, and
that
makes him a fly in the ointment.”
 

“Oh.”
 

“I know, because you’ve just told me, that you know
all about
Mindbender,” Purcell said, clearly not fooled, “but you might not know that the trickiest bit Xenia still needs to crack is what they call the ‘fragmentation paradigm.’ The full explanation is complicated, but the short version is that every time Mindbender tries to separate mind from body, there’s a tether that won’t quite break without spilling the mind everywhere. It’s as if the confinement of a lump of gray matter gives a mind shape. Whenever they try to upload a mind, it fragments.”