“Just one of the greatest?”
His eyes twinkled and he gave a self-effacing laugh. She wouldn’t have expected anything less from Doctor Weldon Emanuel, a trailblazing neurosurgeon and expert in subliminal mnemonics who’d achieved even greater fame for his passionate mid-century writings on the long-term negative impacts of unrestricted science and technology.
Those writings had inspired a diverse international group to chart a saner and more peaceful path for humanity. That group had gone on to become the founders of the Ecostatic Technospheric Alliance. But throughout the organization, as well as in the public imagination, Doctor Emanuel remained E-Tech’s spiritual patriarch.
“Please come with me,” he said.
Walking with effort, he hobbled down a short hallway with faded wallpaper. Leg implants or a snap-on exoskeleton would no doubt have made locomotion easier, Bel realized. E-Tech rarely opposed medical tech that alleviated human suffering so it wasn’t a matter of him hewing to idealism. Perhaps he declined such gear out of a sense of pride, of not wanting to be perceived as old and handicapped.
He motioned her into a large windowless conference room that looked to have been created by removing the original downstairs interior walls. Nine individuals were scattered around the long table. Amid the empty spaces, six more were represented by shimmering holos generated by virtual amplifiers mounted within the chairs.
She recognized every face. Gathered in this room, either in person or via transmitted image, was the entire Board of Regents, the fifteen men and women who oversaw E-Tech. They were an esteemed group that represented the most influential of global power players: famed politicians, corporate titans, brilliant scientists, academics and engineers. Nowhere else in the world did there exist such a diverse and multipotent group united in such a just cause. Bel was proud to serve them.
Three of them were part of the organization’s original group of founders, contemporaries of Doctor Emanuel. She noted that two of the trio wore exoskeletal braces and the third had a mech replacement arm. Their assistive technology made Doctor Emanuel’s lack of such devices more pronounced, made him seem even more exceptional.
He motioned her to assume the open seat at the far end of the table. She’d met with the regents once before, when they’d confirmed Director Witherstone’s appointment of her last year as associate director, Media Relations. But that meeting had taken place at E-Tech headquarters and had been a lighthearted affair. Today, the board members looked appropriately somber.
“Welcome, Ms Bakana.”
The voice came from the chair facing her at the opposite end, from a dark-skinned woman with probing hazel eyes. Suzanna Al-Harthi was an environmentalist with the EuroAfrican League and a leading authority on global atmospheric degradation. She’d been elected to the rotating biennial term of E-Tech board president three months ago.
“We’re in a safe house,” Al-Harthi said, anticipating Bel’s first question. “For now, the Security people felt it prudent to stay low-key and avoid gathering at headquarters. And I apologize for the hasty summons. Again, Security’s prompting. Although we’re aware of no impending threats, accelerated scheduling is believed to be a safeguard against the possibility of further assassinations.”
Bel didn’t disagree with Security’s precautions. Still, since the attack she’d been dwelling on Nick’s blistering critique of that department, that it was dysfunctional and in need of an overhaul.
She had a pretty good idea why the board had summoned her. They would be interviewing every E-Tech associate director to get firsthand details about the attack. Also on the agenda would be the beginning of what likely would be an extensive interview process for selecting Director Witherstone’s replacement.
For Bel, that latter agenda item would be little more than a formality. Media Relations had never been a springboard to the top leadership position. Traditionally, the Executive Director was chosen from either Operations or Intelligence. Bel’s money was on the well-liked guru of the latter department, Pablo Dominguez.
Besides, she had no desire to head the organization. In addition to being laser-painted as a target for Paratwa assassins or other fanatics, she’d have to bear the major brunt of anti-E-Tech sentiments. In person and on the newsphere, Director Witherstone had often been branded a naive egalitarian and misguided Luddite. And those had been some of the nicer things said about him.
“Before we get started, would you like some refreshments?” Al-Harthi asked.
“Coffee would be great.” Bel had been in such a hurry to get here under the wire that she hadn’t even slapped on a caffeine patch, her go-to stimulant when there wasn’t time for fresh-brewed.
She assumed Al-Harthi would summon a serving mech to the room. Instead, Doctor Emanuel stood up and limped toward an end table clustered with drinks and snacks.
“I can get that,” she offered, starting to rise from her seat.
“Nonsense, young lady,” Doctor Emanuel said with a smile. “You’re our guest.”
He transfused a mug with fresh brew from a suspended starbuckian. She fought an urge to ignore his command and rush over to help him.
His hands trembled slightly as he handed her the coffee, another infirmity of aging. She’d read that he’d suffered two heart attacks in recent years, on both occasions refusing hospitalization, preferring the selfmed route and treating himself at home. His whole career had been marked by that sort of stubborn independence.
He took a seat in the corner behind Al-Harthi. She’d heard that the great man often served as a special adviser to the board, although there were rumors that it was a token position, intended mainly to honor his special place in E-Tech history. She hoped they didn’t have him here just to serve refreshments.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Al-Harthi said. “First off, Annabel, how are you doing? We’ve all read the Security report on the attack. It must have been terrifying hiding in that closet.”
“It was,” she admitted, while privately acknowledging a sense of guilt over her actions. While she’d huddled in a dark space, according to witnesses, Director Witherstone’s final moments had been spent glaring defiantly at the assassin as it stabbed a pair of Cohe beams through his eyes.
“But I’m OK now,” she added, twisting the mug’s flavor ring to inject a shot of cocoa cream into her coffee.
“Your survival instincts are obviously excellent. Are you aware that yours is the only department the Paratwa entered that did not suffer any casualties other than those Security people? Elsewhere, panic overwhelmed all too many staffers, and with tragic results.”
Bel started to tell them that Nick had been the one responsible for saving their lives, but Al-Harthi cut her off with a wave of the hand.
“Yes, we’re aware of the contribution of this programmer. But we also know that it was your strength and stamina in the face of life-threatening danger that spared the lives of your staff.”
Looking at the surrounding faces, it was obvious they wanted her to take the credit. She didn’t like the idea but knew all too well how large organizations functioned, how they sought to reward and glorify the highest officials. She might not be able to dodge the focus of their praise here in this room. But she intended to push E-Tech into issuing a proclamation that formally acknowledged Nick for his heroic actions.
Besides that, it would give her a valid excuse to see him again. She had found herself thinking increasingly about Nick since the attack.
“What’s important now,” Al-Harthi continued, “is for E-Tech to recover its poise as quickly as possible. We need to reassure the world that the attack has not deterred us from our mission.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Excellent. That’s one of the reasons why we’re in agreement. We want you to be E-Tech’s new Executive Director.”
Bel was taking her first sip of coffee when Al-Harthi’s words hit her like a shockwave. She quickly lowered the mug lest a suddenly nervous hand caused an embarrassing spil
l.
“I realize our choice must seem somewhat odd.”
That doesn’t even begin to describe it, she wanted to shout, but held her tongue.
“We think you’re qualified in a number of ways to lead the organization. First, you possess excellent political savvy and the ability to navigate friendly and hostile waters with equal skill in this increasingly challenging era. Second, although you’ve suppressed your personal beliefs in support of organizational goals, your writings and speeches prior to assuming your current position suggest that the establishment of the Colonies should be E-Tech’s primary focus.”
The massive space cylinders, under construction for decades at a pair of gravitationally stable regions located hundreds of thousands of kilometers from Earth, were seen as humanity’s best hope for survival if an apocalyptic catastrophe ever did come to pass. Some of them were nearing completion and accepting immigrants.
“The Colonies are of the greatest importance,” the holo of a middle-aged Taiwanese man said. His name was Vok Shen and he controlled an array of manufacturing industries throughout Asia and Africa. A translation bot rendered his native Mandarin into English with a scarcely noticeable time lag. “Can we assume, Ms Bakana, that you still adhere to the belief that we need to establish a strong E-Tech presence there?”
“More than ever,” Bel assured him, recovering her poise enough to take a desperately needed sip of coffee. “If a worst-case scenario should occur and survival on Earth becomes impossible – and for the record I don’t believe that will happen – the Colonies will serve as a safe haven for millions. They represent the best chance for humanity’s continuation. E-Tech must play a major part in that.”
She wondered if they would raise the topic of the world’s second great survival initiative. Star-Edge, the construction of twenty-six massive starships in Earth orbit, was meant to enable hundreds of thousands in stasis sleep to reach distant colonizable planets.
The Colonies were a public-spirited venture, largely funded by men and women like the ones present in this room, along with an international consortium of governments and thousands of wealthy patrons. It was intended that the Colonies be as egalitarian as possible. Star-Edge, although ostensibly controlled by a consortium of respected scientists, was largely underwritten by private monies. Berths on the vessels were sold for exorbitant fees and at least some of them had been purchased by criminal enterprises. The more cynical voices, including the majority of the E-Tech faithful, saw Star-Edge as lifeboats for super-rich crooks.
“I’m pleased our thinking is aligned,” Al-Harthi said. “Is there anything you would do differently in terms of our stated initiatives?”
Bel hesitated, aware that several of the regents were focused intensely on her. Better that she had some time to consider such a weighty and open-ended question.
“E-Tech is involved in a great number of projects. At the moment, I could only talk about those I’ve had direct knowledge of. What I’d like to do first is better familiarize myself with them all from the perspective of my new role.”
Several of the regents nodded, pleased by her prudent and diplomatic response.
Vok Shen jumped in. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Director Witherstone’s relentless and increasingly confrontational stance toward the Paratwa at the expense of the Colonies and other vital efforts has alarmed us for some time. Frankly, many on this board were considering the need to replace him. In light of events, it is most unfortunate that we didn’t act on those considerations.” He paused, gazed around the table at the assemblage. “Our reticence was caused by too lengthy a debate, a problem plaguing all too many of our discussions these days.”
Vok Shen didn’t look at any particular board members when he uttered that last sentence. Al-Harthi nodded, clearly in agreement with him. But several other regents frowned.
One of the male dissenters rose to his feet and turned to the industrialist’s holo. His voice was calm but his words stern, yet oddly delivered with a faint smile.
“Those lengthy debates are the key to effective governance, Vok Shen. Reckless decision-making characterizes all too many organizations these days. E-Tech must pave the way to better governance while also not straying too far from public sentiments.” The man paused. “It’s obvious that our late director was firmly in touch with the feelings of a vast majority of our citizenry. The Paratwa are a grave threat and should be treated as such.”
Bel didn’t know much about R Jobs Headly, the youngest and most recent addition to the Board of Regents. The sandy haired thirty-three year-old, a financier of some renown, came from old money. He’d inherited a family fortune built on the development of twentieth century computer software.
“And do we wish to align ourselves with the humanity’s lowest common denominator, your so-called vast majority?” Vok Shen countered. “Do we lead E-Tech down the path of war and violence? Is that the only solution to the schism between humans and Paratwa?”
“Better that than to awaken one day to find ourselves enslaved by a world ruled by binaries. History offers numerous lessons about the dangers of constant appeasement.”
As well as their obvious disagreement, the subtext of the heated exchange between Vok Shen and R Jobs Headly was clear to Bel. The regents might display a united front in public but, behind the scenes, factions existed. As director, she would have to learn about those factions and develop ways to maneuver among them.
And she’d have to be careful not to go out on a limb by giving overly strong support to any initiatives that were fiercely debated in this chamber. Most, if not all, of the regents knew the value of a well-timed media leak and were prone to using such methods to bat public support in one direction or another. If Bel wasn’t careful, she might find herself functioning as the batted ball, perpetually up in the air and swatted back and forth.
Al-Harthi regarded her with a piercing gaze. “Both prior to and since the attack, your public statements regarding the Paratwa have been free of antagonistic assertions. You have adhered to a position of neutrality, which aligns well with the majority of this board. Although it doesn’t impact your appointment one way or the other, I am curious about your real take on this issue. Have your feelings about the Paratwa changed in any way since the attack?”
Bel again chose her words carefully. “I believe it’s important for E-Tech to attempt to unite all groups under a common umbrella of understanding. Scientific and technological restraint is a worthy goal for one and all, whether human or Paratwa.”
“Thank you,” Al-Harthi said, no doubt aware that Bel had sidestepped the meat of the question. “We’re certain you’ll work diligently to orchestrate those goals.”
Bel stood up. “I want to say to all of you how honored I am to have been chosen. I look forward to continuing to receive input from all the regents, either individually or as a group. It’ll be a steep learning curve but rest assured I’ll give this job my all.”
“That’s appreciated. And with regard to that learning curve, you won’t be entirely on your own. Doctor Emanuel has offered to act as your mentor to help bring you up to speed. If you’re willing to have him, of course.”
“Absolutely.” Bel could hardly contain her pleasure. “I’m thrilled at the idea.”
Doctor Emanuel gave a gracious nod from his corner seat. Bel smiled back at him, genuinely excited by everything that was happening. Yet doubt flickered at the edge of her mind – not over whether she could do the job she’d just been handed, but over the unstated reason that they likely had chosen her.
They want someone who won’t rock the boat.
She would be that person for them, at least in public. But privately, especially when it came to the Paratwa, her true beliefs would continue to guide her, beliefs she’d held from well before the murderous Shonto Prong had extinguished the lives of her coworkers. Unlike Director Witherstone, she’d been careful never to reveal those beliefs in public forums. Had she done so, and had the regents learned of it while v
etting her, it was unlikely she would ever have been offered the job.
The core of her personal beliefs was simple. She agreed with R Jobs Headly that the assassins were the gravest threat humanity had ever faced. But her answer to that threat was more radical than her predecessor’s, who’d only called for controlling their numbers and limiting their influence.
If our species is to survive, we need to wipe out the Paratwa.
Nine
Nick sat in his cubicle on the forty-ninth floor, reviewing the latest information he’d surreptitiously retrieved from the workstation of a midlevel Security administrator, a man who remained oblivious to how easily he could be hacked. Attempting to persuade Security Chief Bull Idwicki, whose ignorance was equaled only by his obstinacy, to fortify his porous data systems was an issue for another day. Right now, the information and what it indicated was all that concerned him.
The administrator had learned through a contact in the EPF that the decoy assassin, the one who had initiated the attack by killing those guards in the lobby, had been discovered late last night. An EPF patrol had found the male tways, or what was left of them, in the zoo, along a deserted section of Delaware River waterfront. The ten-square-block region was generally avoided by even the most desperate street people because of lingering radiation from a terrorist dirty bomb set off back in the 2080s.
The dead tways had been identified as a Machismo Energía. It was one of the newer breeds, the product of a Venezuelan fossil fuels company that sought to diversify its portfolio by expanding into genetic engineering projects, including binaries.
In the Paratwa scheme of things, the Energía were low-end creations, barely adequate as assassins. Given growth hormones to accelerate physical maturation and developmental programs to do the same intellectually, most were under the age of ten in real years even though they had the physiques of young adults. With their training expedited as well, their usefulness was limited. They were hired mainly as cheap grunts by a thousand mercenary armies fighting a thousand lost causes.
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