If
anything,
the
results
of
these
tests
prove
that
the
farohad
is
unsuitable
for
the
project
you
propose
.
It
is
true
that
the
light
effects
the
farohad
produces
can
enter
the
Matrix,
although
the
extreme
measures
we
go
through
to
tap
this
energy
seems
to
border
on
torture
.
By
all
indications,
it
would
seem
that,
as
suspected,
magical
entities
cannot
stand
the
pure
technology
construct
of
the
Matrix
.
While
I
can
force
the
farohad
to
allow
me
to
tap
its
energies,
and
through
trial
and
error
we
have
been
able
to
transfer
that
concentration
of
light
into
the
Matrix,
I
am
unable
to
control
it
once
the
energy
is
in
the
Matrix
.
Please
note
this
because
it
explains
why
we
cannot
control
the
effects
in
the
Matrix
.
The
speed
at
which
the
light
moves
is
beyond
our
capacities
and
the
capabilities
of
the
best
deckers
we
have
.
The
spirit’s
lack
of
cooperation
makes
training
the
farohad
impossible
.
Our
best
brains
alone
cannot
match
the
speed
and
short-lived
usefulness
of
these
bursts
of
pure
light
.
By
its
very
nature,
a
creature
composed
of
light
must
flow
—
it
must
remain
in
an
active
state
.
The
farohad
cannot
"
sit
around"
and
wait
for
instructions
.
Nor
can
it
remain
within
the
Matrix
for
more
than
a
nanosecond
or
two,
at
most
.
As
a
living
spirit,
it
would
completely
lose
its
integrity
if
we
tap
too
much
of
its
elemental
power,
especially
using
so
many
technological
systems
.
At
any
moment,
the
creature
could
dissolve
and
disappear
.
It
is
thus
impossible
for
the
farohad
to
perform
the
function
you
wish
it
to
.
In
theory,
it
should
simulate
the
functions
of
a
Matrix
gopher
program
—
one
with
unlimited
access
to
data
.
It
could
bypass
any
intrusion
countermeasures,
seek
out
a
keyword,
reconfigure
a
portion
of
its
body
to
exactly
duplicate
the
data
that
contains
this
keyword,
and
return
again
to
a
computer
to
write
that
copied
data
on
an
optical
memory
chip
or
datastore
.
In
theory
.
Obviously,
in
hindsight,
this
does
not
and
cannot
work
.
We
did
not
foresee
the
inherent
difficulties
in
forcing
a
magical
creature
into
a
pure
technological
construct
.
Even
when
we
have
tapped
its
energies,
we
have
absolutely
no
control
over
the
light
.
It
will
erase
a
memory
chip
or
datastore
instead
of
penetrating
and
copying
the
information
.
Without
the
human
mind
to
understand
the
technology,
we
have
set
loose
something,
again
in
theory,
that
can
destroy
the
Matrix
.
I
cannot
in
good
conscience
continue
to
subject
the
farohad
to
this
torture,
only
to
prove
what
we
already
know
—
magical
entities
cannot
exist
in
the
Matrix
and
that
light
travels
faster
than
the
human
mind
.
I
believe
that
with
the
data
we
have
learned
we
may
be
able
to
use
the
farohad's
energy
in
the
Matrix
to
create
know-bots
that
function
in
a
similar
way
—
knowbots
at
least
would
be
fully
under
our
command
.
And
from
what
I
understand,
our
Software
Division
is
very
interested
in
what
we
have
learned
.
If
you
approve
this,
I
would
be
able
to
release
the
farohad
.
I
cannot
permit
the
farohad
to
die
in
captivity
.
I
intend
that
it
should
be
free
—
free
to
return
to
the
paradise
that
is
its
natural
habitat
.
I
have
already
outlined
my
opposition,
on
religious
grounds,
to
the
direction
in
which
the
Mitsuhama
Seattle
lab
has
taken
my
research
.
While
I
realize
that
my
moral
arguments
cannot
persuade
you,
I
hope
that
the
practical
problems
I
have
outlined
above
will
do
so
.
This
project
must
be
discontinued
.
I
cannot,
in
good
conscience,
continue
this
work
.
I
hereby
request
a
leave
of
absence,
effective
immediately,
and
a
release
from
my
contract
with
Mitsuhama
.
Farazad
Samji
.
Automatically, Carla framed the memo with her cybereye, did an overall shot, then went to macro-focus and scanned the lines one by one so that they could be assembled later into a scrolling graphic. But even as she performed these mechanical functions, her mind was reeling. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusions not once, but twice. Mitsuhama hadn’t developed the spirit for use as a new form of para-biological weapon. They hadn’t even intended to use it as a virus—although it could certainly be put to that purpose, as Carla had done earlier in the Byte of the Future display. The corporation had instead been after the holy grail of magicians and deckers alike—an "interface" device that used magic as a bridge to the Matrix. They’d intended to use the spirit as an organic, magically based computer—as hardware and software in one. As a program that could ignore ice, enter any system freely, and use its own body to copy any data it found, no matter how much encryption was used to protect it. Had it worked, it would have been the ultimate stealth program and ultra-high-speed master persona control program, rolled into one.
Except that no mage or decker could control it.
And now its energy was running amok in the Matrix, randomly wiping data and crashing systems in an effort to get back at the man who had conjured it and forced it to enter the Matrix in the first place. The man who had presumably set it free, only to have the spirit turn on him and burn the life from him.
Carla stared at the project name: Lucifer Deck. Farazad Samji certainly considered the spirit to be an angel—a farohad. His boss had probably dreamed up the word Lucifer, putting a Christian spin on the concept. Lucifer, the "bringer of light." the shining angel who later fell from heaven in the form of lightning and became Satan, lord of darkness. The name choice was both ironic and appropriate. The spirit—Lucifer—was indeed the fallen son; instead of serving Mitsuhama, it now was trying to destroy the corporation’s kingdom—the Matrix. It was, in every respect, as unruly and antagonistic an angel as the original Lucifer had been.
Carla folded the paper and slipped it into a pocket. That was it. She had what she needed. Her incursion was a wrap. But she’d been trained to be thorough, and so she peeked into the only other room she had yet to explore—a private office. Judging by its comfortable, overstuffed chair and plush carpet, it must belong to the lab’s director. If so, the work station it contained just might contain some other, vital piece of information that Carla could weave into her story.
The data terminal here, like those in the front room, had been taken apart and its central processing unit removed. Carla wasn’t going to get anything from it. And the rest of the room didn’t hold anything of interest; there was no enticing hardcopy lying about. She was just about to leave when she noticed an electronic daytimer that had fallen onto the carpeted floor, under the workstation itself. It was a micro-thin model, no more than a few centimeters long. Picking it up, she thumbed the button that activated it.
The tiny liquid-crystal screen on the top of the data-pad came to life, revealing a name and title in an ornate gold font: Ambrose Wilks. Director MCT Seattle.
Curious to see what the daytimer contained, Carla paged through its entries, starting with a date three weeks ago. To her mounting disappointment, she saw that all of the entries were personal appointments and self-reminders:
Pick
up
Valerie
after
school
.
Lunch
with
Yuki,
2
p
.
m
.
Retirement
present
for
Sabrina
. No wonder the datapad had no log-in code. It didn’t contain anything incriminating at all. Still, she continued doggedly on through the entries, right up to today’s date. And then gasped when she saw the name listed there:
Meeting
with
Aziz
Fader,
6
p
.
m
.
Alabaster
Maiden
Nightclub
.