The Bodhisattva of Creed Thassel looked around for somewhere to sit, but his search only turned up the chair that Horvil had planted himself in and the stool Natch was zealously guarding. He turned towards the viewscreen, then stood in a dead-on imitation of politeness while the holographic Petrucio went through his spiel. A small smile gathered on Brone's face as he watched the performance.
"Quite clever," said Brone after Patel faded into nothingness. "The whole world's in an uproar over this `infoquake' nonsense ... and now the Patel Brothers of all people are going to show us the way to safety. How disingenuous."
"You didn't answer my question," said Natch through gritted teeth.
"Creed Thassel might be a small organization, Natch, and yes, I am the Bodhisattva of Creed Thassel. But there are still a few hundred thousand devotees on the rolls. Even if I knew whether Frederic and Petrucio have embraced our philosophy-which I don't-you certainly can't expect me to know what they're up to twenty-four hours a day."
"They're holding a demo at the Kordez Thassel Complex."
"Creed Elan and the Vault directors and the Meme Cooperative hold meetings there all the time," shrugged Brone. "You don't suspect them of being Thasselian spies, do you?"
Natch growled vehemently and raised the programming bar in his hands as if preparing to strike. Why did Brone always have to show up when his head was so full of cobwebs? "So what the fuck are you doing here?" he said.
"Business." Brone drifted over to the workbench and began studying the bio/logic programming bars with his virtual fingers.
Horvil, his jowls flapping, whipped his head back and forth between the two old rivals. Comprehension dawned on his face in a sudden rush. "He's the `third party' that's financing us?"
"'Third party'?" said Brone mockingly, his gaze suddenly focused on the engineer. "Your master and I are business partners now, Horvil. Surely you know that already. Natch needs some quick cash to get in on Margaret Surina's game. He goes looking for all those business associates who like him and trust him enough to make this kind of investment-and he can't come up with a single name. Certainly a mathematician like you can see the inevitable approach of consequence."
The engineer gave his master a wounded look. "You could have come to me."
Brone walked over and regarded Horvil with an otherworldly stare. The engineer flinched out of reflex. "Be realistic, Horvil. What would your Aunt Berilla think? She'd start moralizing. Or worse, she'd start asking for shares. No, Natch would rather go to a faceless organization like Creed Thassel, where he can work strictly on a cash basis." Brone knelt slowly on the floor and leaned forward until he was close enough to kiss Horvil's nose. "And do you know why?"
The engineer was trembling. "Why?"
"Because he wants MultiReal all for himself," he rasped. "And he doesn't want anybody to get a piece of it-especially his old friend Horvil, who will understand how it works much better than he does."
Natch had had enough. He stalked around the workbench and stood toe to toe with his old rival, causing Horvil to scurry across the room for cover. Brone was at least ten centimeters taller than the fiefcorp master, but the ferocity in Natch's eyes lent him a presence that dominated the room. "All right, this little business arrangement ends right here," he hissed.
The bodhisattva arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I'm ready to pay off your loan in full, right here, right now. And then you can get the fuck out of my apartment and never set foot in here again."
Brone pursed his lips like a proctor considering the request of a dim-witted pupil, then sidestepped Natch's glare and took a seat in the chair that Horvil had so recently vacated. Within seconds, he had retreated back into his detached emotional fortress. "Margaret Surina's money."
"Of course."
"I predicted you would do this," said Brone, crossing one leg over the other. "But I will admit I did not expect you to hit Margaret up for money to pay me off so soon. I thought you would be smart enough to let bygones be bygones and recognize a potential alliance when you saw one."
"You really think I'm going to stay in debt to you one minute longer than I have to?"
Brone shook his head in that maddeningly supercilious way of his. Natch suddenly wished the man were here in the flesh so he could muscle him outside and toss him over the balcony. "Where is the mind I used to respect so? Where is the killer intellect Figaro Fi used to speak of? Natch, that pittance of a loan I gave you was an act of trust. It was a foundation on which to build.
"Think, Natch! You know how much trouble you had finding investors. The drudges despise you across the board, and you can certainly imagine what the Defense and Wellness Council thinks of you right now. What happens when Margaret Surina grows tired of you, as she surely will? Who will you turn to then? Or are you naive enough to think you can do all this alone?"
Natch had retreated back to the safe fortification of his workbench, where he stood silently and wondered how much of this he could take before he severed Brone's multi connection. Why hadn't he done so already? Horvil stood in the corner and watched their tete-a-tete with a miserable look on his face.
"Natch, when are you going to realize that you're in over your head?" continued Brone in a completely even tone of voice. "You must know by now that Margaret isn't dealing with you in good faith. I can see it in your eyes. You don't know what she's up to, do you? What makes you think you're not being made a fool of?
"And here sits Brone, the man whom you wronged all those years ago. He is angry. Yes. He hates you and would love to see you dead. Yes. Indisputable facts. But when you get into a tight spot, Brone shows up with Creed Thassel money to bail you out, and offers you a loan at Vault standard rates. He may insult you, but at least he puts all his cards on the table.
"I cannot be any more forthcoming, Natch. I want to throw the past aside and start a new business. You should be asking yourself one question now: Why trust your fate to a woman whose motivations you don't know, instead of trusting your fate to an old enemy whose intentions are written all over his face?"
Natch tightened his grip on the metal bar and slowly advanced towards his old enemy. A miasma of fury was radiating from his every pore, clouding his vision and blocking out the sound of Horvil's whimpers from the corner. "I don't trust my fate to anyone but me," he said.
He reached the chair and took a crushing swing at it with his bio/logic programming bar. But it was too late; Brone had already cut his multi connection and vanished.
"You lied to me," Natch growled like a hunted tiger.
"I was planning to tell you about it when things calmed down," replied Margaret.
The words Brone had spoken a little over an hour ago still burned in the pit of his stomach. What makes you think you're not being made a fool of? "Don't split hairs with me, Margaret. You should have told me everything from the start."
The bodhisattva merely yawned and continued sorting through her notes for the presentation she was about to give to Creed Surina. The presentation had nothing to do with MultiReal or business mergers or bio/logics; it bore the aggressively mundane title Revised 4th Quarter Budget for Diss Technology Distribution Program. Even a fleeting glance over Margaret's shoulder at the formation of integers lining the spreadsheet columns was enough to make Natch drowsy. He looked out into the audience of the small auditorium, where a few sluggish creed bureaucrats had begun to take up residence. In the fifth row sat an old woman who had dozed through the ending of the last meeting and looked like she might snore through this one too. Margaret was handing control of MultiReal over to Natch so she could conduct tedious seminars like this?
"I'm waiting for an answer," said Natch.
Margaret frowned. "An answer to what? Would it have made the least bit of difference if I had told you all about the Patel Brothers' license in the first place? No, it would not have. If you hadn't reacted so strongly to Len Borda's involvement, I might have told you at the beginning." She tapped on a header in the sprea
dsheet and then craned her neck as a video clip of a lethargic diss child filled the viewscreen behind her.
"The least you could do," he said under his breath, "is tell me the details of your agreement."
"Frederic and Petrucio have a limited license. They can release MultiReal products, but they will be subordinate to yours."
"Subordinate how?"
"The Patel products will have a limited number of choice cycles, whereas yours will be infinite."
"And exactly what is a `choice cycle'?"
Margaret sputtered out a sigh and rubbed her forehead. "It's complicated. Quell will explain everything to you."
Natch crossed his arms petulantly over his chest. He paced to the edge of the stage from which Margaret would be delivering her soporific report in half an hour. Everyone from here to 49th Heaven was discussing this mighty new technology and speculating about the kinds of secrets Margaret and Natch were exchanging; in reality, however, Natch could barely catch her attention.
"So you didn't tell me because you thought I would back off," he grunted.
"It occurred to me, yes."
"That means you basically lured me into this deal on false pretenses, knowing I wouldn't say no, that I would have to jump at this kind of opportunity. And now that the word is out, you know I won't back down."
Margaret turned towards the fiefcorp master with haunted eyes. "You find yourself capable of strange things when you run out of choices," she said, as if she had been condemned to watch a gruesome execution over and over again.
"Tell me why," Natch demanded. "You owe me that. Why Frederic and Petrucio Patel, of all people? You had to know they hate me with a passion."
The descendant of Sheldon Surina leaned her elbows on the podium and delicately parked her chin on her palms. "I went to Pierre Loget first. But he was evasive and I didn't trust him. So then, almost nine months ago, I approached the Patel Brothers. They sat down with me and swore up and down that they wanted to bring MultiReal to the public, that they could see a glorious new age of opportunity arising."
"So what happened?"
"Someone bought them off."
Natch inhaled sharply. Everywhere he turned, he saw a place someone else had long since scouted out and claimed for his own. "How do you know?"
"I suppose I don't really know at all," said Margaret with a weary, far-off look. "The Patels deny that they're in collusion with anybody. But sometimes we can just sense these things, can't we? Too many coincidences, too many nosey questions, too little fear of the consequences. The entire Patel Brothers Fiefcorp got onboard a hoverbird a few weeks ago and disappeared for two days, I don't know where. They've clearly been bought by someone."
"So why don't you just break the license? Cancel the agreement."
"Believe me, I've tried." She pulled one hand out from under her chin and extended a bony finger off to the east. "Dozens of legal experts have been working around the clock in the Enterprise Facility trying to find loopholes in the contract. We've got lobbyists rubbing elbows with the Prime Committee, and delegates in the Congress of LPRACGs pushing legislation. That contract is ironclad."
Natch shook his head in disbelief at the morass Margaret had made out of the whole affair. Did this woman completely lack an imagination? "Listen, Margaret," he said, "it's just a contract. They're just words. Cut the Patel Brothers off from the MultiReal databases and put the burden of proof on them. They'll have to file something with the Meme Cooperative or the L-PRACG courts. Getting a final decision could take years."
The bodhisattva sighed and turned back to her presentation. "And give Len Borda the perfect excuse to send another legion of Council troops here? I don't think so."
Natch threw his hands up in the air, a despondent plea to the halfempty auditorium. Down in the fifth row, the old woman flopped over with a loud snort while Natch looked on in contempt. Margaret had foisted her problems off on him, but he had no such luxury. If someone needed to take action to keep the Phoenix Project out of the Council's hands, that someone would have to be Natch.
You find yourself capable of strange things when you run out of choices.
On Saturday morning, Natch was the first to arrive at the Surina Enterprise Facility, and so his mood dominated the conference room SeeNaRee. The fiefcorp apprentices found themselves sitting at a table in the middle of the African veldt. But this wasn't the modern veldt any of them knew, that bustling metropolis crammed full of autonomous business clusters, tube tracks and Sudafrican suburbs; it was the veldt of some mythical African past. Giraffes chomped at lofty tree limbs. Lions roared their displeasure through a thin tissue of mist. Ghosts and spirits floated past in ethereal majesty.
By a quarter past noon, there was still no sign of Quell or the MultiReal programming code. Horvil and Ben would have been content to gossip about family business all day, but Natch had no use for idle time. "Let's just get started," the fiefcorp master snapped. "We can't afford to wait for Quell anymore. Has everyone seen the Patel Brothers' promo?"
His question was met with an uncomfortable silence. All the apprentices had seen it, but their critical faculties were so dulled by weeks of constant surprises that nobody knew what to make of it.
"I don't understand, Natch," began Jara. "Margaret just unveiled this MultiReal technology three days ago. And now the Patel Brothers are already selling it?"
"They had a nine-month head start," put in Merri.
Jara let out a guttural curse. "Nine months-that's when everyone started catching up with them on Primo's," she said. "I just knew there had to be a reason why their programs were such easy targets."
"I don't understand this whole fucking thing!" cried a frustrated Horvil, banging his fist on the table hard enough to send a flock of marabous scurrying. " 'Multiple realities' ... `safe shores' . . . It sounds like voodoo to me! Does anybody understand this MultiReal stuff? What the heck would you need an alternate reality for? Has the whole world gone entirely offline?"
"Well, apparently Frederic and Petrucio understand it," muttered Benyamin.
Natch had been listening to his apprentices' jabber with eyes closed, as if participating in an internal dialogue with an unseen consultant. "How do you know?" he said.
Jara felt her mental gears grind to a halt. The rest of the apprentices sported dumb looks as well.
"Petrucio didn't say they were going to launch a MultiReal product on Tuesday," Natch continued. "All they're doing is holding a demo. As far as we know, the Patel Brothers are months away from launching anything that'll float on the Data Sea."
"Which means-"
"Maybe Frederic and Petrucio don't understand this technology any better than we do. Maybe they never got much cooperation from Margaret, and now they're frantically trying to put together something that will look halfway decent for their demo. A good channeler can make lots of deals before there's anything to sell. The Patels could be trying to shut out the competition before anyone else realizes there's something to compete over."
Horvil snorted. "What about us?"
"Us?" said Jara, starting to comprehend the vector of Natch's thoughts. "Horv, Margaret never said anything about products in that speech of hers. She called MultiReal a scientific breakthrough. As far as the public knows, we could be planning to hold on to the core technology and collect licensing fees. Or we could be some kind of charitable technology bank."
"So you think the Patels are bluffing," said Merri. "Putting up a a smokescreen to scare everyone else out of the MultiReal business." As a devotee of Creed Objectivv, she seemed to find the entire possibility distasteful.
"More or less," said Natch.
Silence briefly engulfed the room. Natch's eyes remained closed. Jara could hear the cawing of vultures overhead, the rustling of amorphous beasts out in the brush. Nobody ever said that SeeNaRee had to be subtle, she thought.
"Well," said Benyamin faintly, "why can't we do the same thing?"
Natch's eyelids snapped open, and the blue orbs beneath
emitted a ghoulish glow. The virtual sun dipped below the treeline as if on cue and cast them all in shadow. "That's exactly what we're going to do," he hissed through a fierce grin. "The Patel Brothers made the first strike by releasing this promo and scheduling a demo so quickly. But on Tuesday, we're going to beat them at their own game-because we're going to demo our products first."
Jara groaned. "And how do you expect us to do that?" she cried, her hands balled into miniature fists. "It was bad enough when you wanted us to create an entire industry in eight days. Now you want us to do it in three?"
The fiefcorp master did not even pause. "Yes."
"Natch, who knows how long the Patels have been preparing for this demo? Days, weeks, months! Horvil's right-we barely even know what this program is. None of us had even heard of MultiReal this time last week. How are we supposed to get started? We don't have the code, we don't have the expertise, we don't have anything to work with."
"Not true," Natch replied tersely. "We have all the bio/logic code we need."
Merri ran her fingers through her blonde hair quizzically. "Natch, I thought you started liquidating all our bio/logic programs this morning."
"All the released programs, yes. But not the old ones we've taken off the market. Not the Routines On Demand."
"RODs?" yelped Horvil, springing up from his chair. "I don't believe this. You're pitting us against the Patel Brothers with some of your shitty old ROD programming?"
Natch smiled cruelly. "Not my old programming, Horvil. Yours."
All the color drained from the engineer's face. He sat down gingerly, not even bothering to put on a PokerFace to mask his dismay. "Oh no, Natch. You're not talking about Probabilities 4.9, are you? Man, that program is in sorry shape. It's nowhere near ready for production."
The fiefcorp master nodded. "That's the one."
Horvil whimpered incoherently.
Jara cut in. "Natch, I don't see any record of Probabilities 4.9 on the Data Sea." She narrowed her eyes, casting her mind out in a wider net. Primo's ratings, fiefcorp launch schedules, Meme Cooperative filings, drudge reviews, InfoGathers-all came up empty. "As far as I can tell, this program was never released. It doesn't even look like it's been run through Dr. Plugenpatch."
Infoquake Page 26
