Infoquake

by David Louis Edelman

  "Of course, by the late 320s, things were already turning around. High Executive Borda had started handing out enormous defense contracts to the fiefcorps, hoping the credits would funnel down to the masses. For ten years, the Council gave subsidies to just about anyone who asked-including me."

  Natch's eyes were beginning to glaze over. According to the legends, Sheldon Surina had also been fond of historical digressions. Did I take the tube halfway across the globe and lose an entire day in MindSpace for a civics lesson? "So Len Borda gave you money."

  "Yes," she continued. "I approached the Council with blueprints for a new set of memory enhancement programs. Programs to drastically extend the potential of the human brain, based on the technology my father left behind at his death. I painted Borda a picture of Council officers with total recall and soldiers who could memorize the tiniest details of a battlefield. He was impressed."

  The fiefcorp master frowned. "I don't understand," he interrupted. "Why did you of all people need Council credits?"

  Margaret gave a wry smile, and her face clouded up momentarily with a far-off look. Then she stood, shook off the gloom, and fetched two tiny cups of Turkish coffee from the access panel in the wall. "Natch, my father might have been a scientific visionary, but he was never a prudent businessman." She deposited one of the cups on the table in front of Natch. "Yes, he made breakthroughs in teleportation technology, but he never figured out a way to pay for them. Let us just say that TeleCo was not the only organization Marcus Surina left on the brink of bankruptcy when he died."

  Natch sipped the bittersweet brew from the delftware cup and thought about his mother holed up in the towers of Old Chicago. He felt a brief surge of anger, but batted it away. "So Borda anted up," he said.

  "Yes. The Surina Perfection Memecorp received one of the largest appropriations of the entire Economic Plunge. You see, it was a winwin situation. We desperately needed financial stability, and the public desperately needed confidence in the future, in their governments. And who could provide a better hope for tomorrow than the Surinas?" Natch listened carefully but could find no trace of irony in her voice. "So everyone got what they wanted. We got the funding we needed to turn ourselves around. Borda got a shining example of prosperity to show off. And the economy recovered.

  "Which leads us to today.

  "We have not been idle all this time. After trying its hand at a variety of projects, the Surina Perfection Memecorp has spent the last sixteen years in research and development. And now Len Borda is about to find out exactly what he paid for all these years ago." The bodhisattva's voice crackled slightly at the end of her sentence. An expression of fear? Of regret?

  "The Phoenix Project," Natch said.

  Margaret rolled her eyes and gave a knowing look to the Islander, who responded with a smile rich in irony. "I despise that name. Some drudge coined the term. It wasn't supposed to be so secretive. We really did start out with memory enhancers. We never intended to provoke a twenty-year guessing game on the Data Sea."

  "Okay," said Natch, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So what's this big invention then? Not memory enhancers, I take it."

  "No. Not really. It's a bio/logic program. But much more than just a bio/logic program."

  "You're going to have to be more specific than that."

  Margaret remained maddeningly calm. She blew on her coffee and watched the wisps of steam disperse around the room. Her eyes were a lake of measureless depth. "I can't. Not yet."

  The mounting tension was too much for Natch. He let out an irritated puff and threw his hands in the air. "So we're back to the original question. What do you want from me?"

  "I want you to license my technology," said Margaret.

  Nobody spoke for several moments. Natch bounced his gaze back and forth between Margaret and her silent companion, wondering if somehow the Patel Brothers were behind this, if they had conned Margaret into diverting him here while they solidified their number one position on Primo's. The Islander looked Natch up and down as if taking detailed measurements.

  "Let me get this straight," said Natch. "You're asking me to license some new product without telling me what it is? And if that's not enough, the Defense and Wellness Council is willing to kill you to keep the whole project quiet? Well, forget it. I don't want anything to do with this. What makes you think I want Len Borda coming after me?"

  The bodhisattva's demeanor softened, though whether it was an expression of sympathy or merely a change of tactics Natch could not tell. "Let me ask you a question, Natch. What's the quickest way to neutralize a poison?"

  Natch thought for a moment. "Dilute it," he said.

  "Precisely. Dump any poison into a large enough ocean, and its effects are nullified."

  "Okay, I see what you're driving at."

  "The Defense and Wellness Council sees my technology as a poison. My technology, Natch-my life's work, which I've spent sixteen years building." Margaret abruptly looped a bony finger through the handle of the coffee cup and raised it into the air. "But pour this poison into the largest ocean of all-the Data Sea-and it becomes part of the ocean itself. It becomes inert. More importantly, once you release the poison, it cannot be bottled up again. " She raised the cup to her lips and drank it to the dregs in one angry gulp.

  Natch was beginning to get the impression he was not here for a business opportunity so much as an audition. He remembered all the scenes he had set up throughout the years: his confrontations with Brone, his challenges to Captain Bolbund, his ascent to the top of Primo's. Margaret Surina had prepared a script, and she had a part for him to play.

  He once again shook off the stifling air, the slowly tightening constriction around his throat. "There's something you're not telling me," he said. "If you want to nullify the poison, go ahead and dump the specs on the Data Sea right now and get it over with. Why bother with the hassle of setting up a licensing agreement with a fiefcorp?"

  The bodhisattva nodded pensively. "It's not that simple. This is a complex project. If this program fails to capture the public's imagination, then the Council can just swoop in and take control without a single protest. Besides, the Phoenix code is dangerous code, if it's not handled properly. If we just floated the specs out onto the Data Sea, who knows what could happen? I absolutely refuse to have blood on my hands." Margaret held her hands in front of her face and stared at them as if they were alien artifacts. "No, this situation has to be handled with the utmost precision. Which is why you're here, Natch.

  "I need a licensee who can do two things. First, he needs to generate enough ripples on the Data Sea to make the Council stay its hand until I unveil the technology. And then he needs to quickly develop a workable prototype to show the world this technology is real."

  "Wait a minute," cried Natch, slicing his hand through the air. "You've spent sixteen years building this fucking thing, and you don't even have a workable prototype?"

  Margaret was unfazed. "I have many, but none I trust to act flawlessly in front of billions of people. The Council has forced my hand too early."

  "All right, fine. So when are you unveiling the Phoenix Project?"

  "The end of next week, at the cultural festival honoring Sheldon Surina's four hundredth birthday. Until then, all we need is a little bit of uncertainty. You're an outsider, Natch, and outsiders bring complications. Loose ends. The more Borda fears I have let others in on the Phoenix Project, the more he will hesitate to act."

  Natch set his chin on his fist in consternation. He had learned many years ago never to get locked into a situation without an elaborate and many-layered plan for escape. Then he thought of Margaret's words: More money and more power than you can possibly imagine. What were money and power? Mere words, vowels and consonants, scrapings of tongue on tooth. But what they represented: open doors. A way out. A way up.

  "So why me?" he said at length.

  "Because you are the best," replied Margaret without hesitation. "Because you are young and hungry. Bec
ause you work quickly and demand absolute perfection from your team. Because this enterprise requires someone with a flair for ... showmanship." She waved her hand and summoned a message in holographic letters on the table. "I need the person who can accomplish this."

  Natch scanned the letters and promptly switched his PokerFace program back on.

  PLEASE PROTECT YOUR HOLDINGS

  The Vault has detected a DNA-assisted decryption attack directed at your account. Your holdings have not been compromised, but it is advised that you periodically check the security of your Vault account. This advisory has been automatically routed to the custodian of records for your L-PRACG and, depending on your L-PRACG's policies, may also be forwarded to the Defense and Wellness Council.

  Natch could have recited the words from memory, but he pretended to read them over two or three times. Obviously, blackmail was not her objective, or Natch would have been greeted at the compound gates by representatives of the Meme Cooperative. "It's a warning from the Vault," he said simply.

  The bodhisattva let it go, banishing the missive into the aether. She seemed to be retreating into her shell. Again, Natch caught the hollow look of fear in Margaret's eyes, and the intimate concern radiating from the Islander standing in the doorway.

  "You need to understand something," said Natch abruptly. "Investing in a new technology isn't cheap. I'll need to bring on new employees, conduct research. Buy more equipment. Train my people, find more channelers." He tallied up each item with his fingers while he spoke. "All that takes money. Just because my fiefcorp made number one on Primo's doesn't mean we're number one in sales. I don't have that many credits lying around-especially if you expect me to get involved in a new project that isn't going to bring in any money for a long time."

  Margaret sighed. "If you are suggesting Surina investment," she said, "I can't funnel money to you through any of our regular channels-not quickly, at any rate. It's too risky, and we can't have anyone suspect that I've put you up to this. For now, you must be a completely independent third party in these negotiations." The bodhisattva glanced over her shoulder at the big man with the blonde ponytail standing in the doorway, and suddenly Natch wondered if he was there to keep others out or to keep Natch in. "There is an entirely different dance I have to perform here with all the different Surina organizations. Let us just say that some here do not appreciate radical moves."

  "So you expect me to hit the ground running with no money, and put together a perfect prototype in a couple of weeks."

  "Within a week, yes. But I'm not worried, Natch. If I had the slightest doubt you could find the money to do this, you wouldn't be here."

  Natch shook his head and snorted in amusement. "I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish."

  The descendant of Sheldon Surina leaned forward and touched her lips to her clasped fingers. "Things were not supposed to turn out this way," she said quietly. "You are the contingency plan."

  Natch stood up, put his palms flat on the table, and leaned forward with a smoldering stare. "Let's get one thing clear," he hissed. "I am not your contingency plan. If I get involved in this, it'll be for my own reasons. Because you claim I can make a lot of money, and I believe you. If things get too dangerous-for me-or if I think the credits aren't worth the risk-then I'll pull out of this whole thing without a second thought and leave you stranded. I'll be a dead man before I get involved in a scheme like this to save your hide from the Defense and Wellness Council." He turned to face the burly Islander, as if to say, That goes for you too.

  Margaret had no reaction. She was beyond affectation right now. "I will forward to you what little information I can at this point," she said in a hoarse monotone.

  The entrepreneur nodded and fired another quick glance at the Islander. The big man was smiling openly now. Whatever test he and Margaret had just administered, Natch had passed it with panache.

  "Why don't you ask Horvil?" said Serr Vigal.

  Natch shook his head. "He's got plenty of credits, but there's no way he can move that kind of money without his Aunt Berilla finding out about it. And she'd rather slice off her own arm than invest in me."

  "Another fiefcorp, then. Pierre Loget. Or Lucas Sentinel."

  "Sentinel?" spat the fiefcorp master, as if the name were a curse word in a foreign tongue. "Are you kidding? He's still furious at Jara. And don't forget that when I pushed the Patel Brothers down to the number two spot on Primo's, Sentinel's company fell to number three. Loget doesn't like me any better."

  "What about that financier you met with all those years ago? He said he liked you, didn't he?"

  "Figaro Fi? He joined the Prepared a year and a half ago, Vigal. He's probably dead by now."

  Serr Vigal pursed his lips and made a noise of dismissal. Thppt. He got slowly to his feet and ambled over to the window, which was showing some beachside resort full of bronzed children laughing and throwing sand at one another. A welcome change from the dreary November Omaha rain. "I can help you a little bit, of course," said the neural programmer. "The memecorp has some extra equipment lying around that I can lend you. But I just don't have the kind of money you're talking about."

  "Which leaves me back where I started," said Natch with disgust. "The capitalmen." He kicked at a tuft of carpet and scowled at the frolicking children through the window. No self-respecting capitalman would lend him such a large sum of money for a project he couldn't even define. They wouldn't care that he ran the number two company on Primo's, or that he was working on Margaret Surina's fabled Phoenix Project-they would just ask to see the specs. Natch couldn't blame them. Margaret had no track record to boast of, no prior business successes to point to. All she had was the Surina family reputation. And that reputation hadn't helped anyone recoup their losses from TeleCo, had it?

  "This is my worst nightmare, Vigal," Natch moaned. He waved his hand at the screen and changed the display right under Serr Vigal's nose. His guardian blinked in mild surprise as the beach made way for the trading pit of some Melbourne financial exchange. "The biggest opportunity of my life, and I can't make it happen. Nobody will invest until Margaret unveils the technology at the end of next week. But then it'll be too late. I won't have the resources to get this prototype up and running in time."

  Serr Vigal rubbed his goatee quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. "I wonder what this Phoenix Project really is."

  "Margaret said she started out with memory enhancers. You know neural programming, Vigal-where could she go from there?"

  "In sixteen years? Just about anywhere."

  "Well, it has to be a neurological program, doesn't it? She must have looked at my background-she must know I apprenticed with you. She must know the bulk of our catalog is devoted to optics and mental processes. DeMirage 54, EyeMorph 66a, Mento Calc-U-Later 93.9, NiteFocus 50c-I could go on and on. Why else would she come to me?"

  "Why indeed?" said Vigal. "There are hundreds of fiefcorps and memecorps out there capable of handling a project like this. And most of them have more experience in this business than you, not to mention greater resources."

  "She said she wanted someone with a flair for showmanship."

  "And do you believe her?"

  "Stop being so-so elliptical. If you think something's going on here, then just come right out and say it."

  Vigal leaned against the viewscreen, screwing up his face with courage. "I don't think anything," he muttered. "I simply fear."

  "And what do you fear?"

  "I fear that Margaret has picked you for this enterprise because she thinks she can manipulate you." The neural programmer took a long, sad look at the traders tussling with one another on the Melbourne exchange floor. Undoubtedly, most of them were only multi projections, but that did not make the scene any less violent or chaotic to behold.

  Natch felt the old alienation swooping down on him and constricting his lungs. He snarled angrily, poking a virtual finger into his guardian's chest. "And so what if she thinks she can manipula
te me? That doesn't change anything. I've still got to find a way to get into the Phoenix Project, or I'll never get out of this ... this horse race on Primo's."

  "And do you know that this Phoenix Project of Margaret's is a panacea for your problems? I worry that you're throwing everything aside for some vague business venture when you don't even know what it is."

  "No. The Phoenix Project is it. This is the answer. This is what I've been searching for. I know it, I can feel it with every cell in my body. You don't think I can just ignore an opportunity like this, do you?"

  Vigal smiled wanly. "That is a decision only you can make, Natch."

  Merri looked as if she had been in her foyer for hours awaiting Natch's arrival. He frowned briefly. There were few things Natch detested more than someone who was too eager to please. A good employee says no more often than yes, the great Lucco Primo once claimed.

  "Towards Perfection, Natch," she said softly.

  "Perfection," replied Natch. "Ready?"

  "Yes, but ..." Merri flinched, as if raising an objection were the most difficult task in the world. "I was hoping you could shed some light on the role you want me to play today."

  Natch checked the Shenandoah central time service. They had almost twenty minutes before the potential investors arrived at the Surina Enterprise Facility. He walked past the channel manager and into her living room, cursing the multi network's insistence on reproducing the wobbly effects of imperfect gravity control. "People don't trust me," Natch said bitterly, taking a seat on a round ottoman covered with a delicate floral pattern. "I've hit number one on Primo's, I've proven myself time and time again, but still nobody worth talking to will do business with me. I need your credibility, Merri."

  Merri absorbed all this with an air of mystification. "My credibility?"