The Octagonal Raven

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “You were released by OneCys. Isn’t this just a way to get back at OneCys?”

  “No. I have no complaints with the people at OneCys. My own inquiries led me to believe that the managing compositor was ordered to release me from contract. Outside of the time I was in regrowth in the medcenter, I never missed a deadline in ten years and always got high praise for what I did.” I offered a crooked smile. “I probably had something to do with UniComm’s loss of marketshare.”

  “So … why didn’t they keep you?”

  “I don’t know. I can guess that someone was getting increasingly nervous that I might end up where I now am, and didn’t want me to know any more about OneCys operations. Since I was released before the last set of deaths … it does make one wonder, but I can’t say I know for certain, only that the head compositor insisted it wasn’t the quality of my work.” After that the questions tended to be variations on the earlier queries, in one form or another, but I kept answering until they finally stopped asking … or actually until the last question.

  “Director Alwyn … why have you kept answering questions that are clearly repetitive?”

  “Because I don’t want it said or intimated that management cut off questions because it got uncomfortable or wanted to hide anything.”

  Most of the room laughed.

  Devit Tal, the senior correspondent, stood. “I think we can safely say that, if management hid anything, it’s certainly given us every opportunity to find it. The director general’s fact sheet and his openness to answering questions have been unparalleled.” With that, I slowly stood. My knees were a little rubbery. “Thank you all very much.” I kept a smile on my face as I left, straining to pick up any comments I could.

  “… got guts …”

  “… means we got trouble …”

  “… he’s right, and we got a real story …”

  “… wrong, we still got one …”

  I continued to smile all the way back to the office where Majora waited.

  “You recorded everything?” I asked Majora as I sat down behind the cherry wood desk.

  “You were too honest … far too honest. What if your words get out?”

  “I’m sure that they will. That’s why we’ll use the monitoring systems to follow everything, including style. With a little luck and your analytical skills, we’ll follow those words right into InstaNews … and anywhere else.”

  “Then what?” asked Majora.

  “If it gets that far, I’ll issue a challenge to those five names to do what I did.… I haven’t done an illegal act — except cut out the delimiters on the glider to put it next to your door. They can’t pass that test, because requesting or ordering an illegal act is an illegal act. Then … all of a sudden, the news stories will die out, and I’ll be viewed as crazy, but they’ll have a hard time in pushing it because they know we’ll push back. They’ll give more orders, and someone else will try to kill me.” I shrugged. “Let’s just hope I can survive it. Or we can.”

  “I think I’m glad you have security patrols around our houses.”

  “That won’t stop everything. I just hope it will delay matters until we can complete our plan. In the meantime, most of my people will begin to realize that they’re on to something. The smaller nets will follow — in their own way.…” I smiled, evilly. “And then, we deliver the coup de grace.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The factual truth.”

  “And if you can’t find it? Or prove it?”

  “Then we ask questions, the kinds they can’t answer. And we point out the implications — in simple terms.”

  “You have a very nasty mind, Daryn.”

  “It’s all I’ve got. I don’t have the power to arrange murders with disposable monoclones, or unfindable lasers, or strategically placed walls.”

  I just hoped I could orchestrate what I had in mind — and complete it before my opponents removed me. And that it would raise the issues enough to bring things into the open. That was about all I could hope for — if that.

  * * *

  Chapter 72

  Kewood

  * * *

  The next morning Majora and I were going over the outlines of the assignment areas when my UniComm gatekeeper informed me that one Regional Advocate General Fynbek wished to speak with me. I set it up to record whatever might transpire — on high quality.

  Darius Fynbek was leaning forward from behind his wide official replicated mahogany desk. Even in the holo image, his eyes glittered.

  “Good morning, Advocate,” I said pleasantly.

  “Director Alwyn … I have just been informed that you … employed a CA truth team at a private meeting.… I cannot believe that you would … undertake such a perversion of duties of the Civil Authorities.…”

  I frowned. “Let me understand this. You are offended that I asked a CA truth team to ensure that every word I spoke to my employees was factual and truthful? And you are contacting me about it?”

  “I have no objection to your telling the truth. I always favor the truth. I would hope you would not need to use such drastic measures to prove such to your own staff, but obviously, you did, and I’m not sure that speaks at all well of you. Furthermore, the procedure is highly irregular and without precedent.”

  “I had a legal opinion. I presented it to the local advocate general. She agreed that it was proper. Now … you are suggesting that seeking and verifying the truth is something that the advocate general opposes? Or that you are concerned that I set a precedent of suggesting that waiving privacy is not all that unusual for pre-selects?”

  “Ah … certainly not. But procedures … they were established to ensure that the media and legal systems did not coopt each other’s integrity.”

  “Yes … I understand that, Advocate. That’s why we sought a legal opinion first, and we offered the opinion to the local advocate general.”

  “She … I may have to request that she reconsider her actions.”

  “That would make a most interesting story, I would think,” I mused. “Advocate General opposes use of CA truth team. Considers censure and reversal.”

  “Director Alwyn …” Fynbek’s voice hardened. “I am sure I could find a number of interesting legal precedents.…”

  I grinned. “I’m most certain that you could. However, there is one that I recall, and that is that conversations between Federal Union officials and citizens are privileged only if the citizen requests privilege, and this is one where I certainly don’t need privacy. This conversation would be most interesting to many people … say, most of the world, and the secretary director of the Federal Union.”

  Fynbek stiffened. “I see. I trust that you understand the implications of your course, Director Alwyn.”

  “I fear I do, Advocate. I fear I do. The only problem is that any other course is either unethical or illegal or both.”

  I found myself looking at my own bookcase.

  “You really upset him, Daryn.”

  “I noticed.” I shrugged wearily. “Might as well get on with the assignments.” I forced a grin I didn’t feel. “After that you might consider how we tie Advocate Fynbek’s displeasure to whatever other disaster is likely to befall me.”

  “After you get the plan rolling. Shall I call Brin?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I looked at the twenty or so stacks of assignments — hard copy. None of the assignments were in the UniComm system. They’d come off Majora’s system — a more secured and upgraded system.

  Brin stepped into the office, gingerly, almost as if he expected someone to train a laser or something on him. “Ser?”

  “Have a seat.”

  He sat on the front edge of one of the green leather armchairs.

  I looked at him. “I want a series of commentaries … the slant is this. UniComm has revealed the possibility that OneCys programming policies are being directed by a small group of pre-selects. OneCys continues to attack UniComm, including persona
l attacks on UniComm directors. OneCys is not answering the charges. What — or who — does OneCys have to hide?”

  “You do this, and most of the major multilateral sponsors will bail,” Brin predicted. “We’ll lose massive amounts of revenue.”

  “Perhaps they won’t.” I fingered my chin. “Especially if word got out about those multis headed by pre-selects close to the PST Trust group — that they cut sponsorship because they’re tacitly supporting what amounts to a political coup. That would make another good news story.”

  “Then, they’ll cut back and give OneCys and the smaller nets more, claiming they’re merely diversifying, and we’ll still lose revenue.”

  “Of course we will,” I agreed. “Advertisers and sponsors don’t like controversy. How’s our market share?”

  “Ah … up about two points.”

  “And what will happen if we start attacking multis and pre-selects?”

  “Market share will climb, probably,” he conceded. “For a while.”

  “What would that translate into if we got back those sponsors?”

  Brin swallowed.

  “They’ll come back,” I asserted. All those except the handful owned or controlled by the families behind the PST Trust.

  After Brin left, Nasaki and Gallo arrived.

  “Feron, Tomas, I need you to find the best solicitors in the world on communications, open speech, and media representations who aren’t under contract or tied to any major netsys. Offer what you have to, but we’re going to be putting out a series of news and information specials, and I need the entire content of every one reviewed to make sure that we are not liable for damages or misrepresentation. That’s after you review them. I want inside and outside review.”

  The two exchanged glances. Then Gallo spoke. “That could run to the millions.”

  “It could. Not having that review could run to the hundreds of millions.”

  “Yes, ser.” Gallo nodded.

  Nasaki swallowed.

  Then the two left, and I looked at Majora.

  She shook her head almost imperceptibly. “They’re not happy.”

  “I’m not sure anyone will be.” Including me.

  “Do you really want to do this, Daryn?” Majora asked while we waited for the senior correspondent.

  “I don’t have much choice, not that I see. The PST types are using the law as a shield, but trying to deny its use to me and to most norms.”

  “You didn’t feel that way before.”

  My laugh was rueful. “It’s called walking in someone else’s boots. The way the law is being used allows them to attack me, and if I do anything to react along the same lines, I’ll end up incarcerated and brain-damped.”

  “Why haven’t you gone to Seglend Krindottir?”

  “Because I’ll need her to put things back together, and because I doubt she can do anything. The last thing I want to do is compromise a truly honest official in the advocates general structure.”

  “You realize what you’re doing?”

  I nodded, sadly.

  “People are going to get hurt.”

  “But they’ll stay free.”

  “They don’t always want freedom.”

  I knew that, too.

  We both turned as Devit Tal stepped into the office.

  “You said you had a project?” At my gesture, he took the chair beside Majora.

  “I did, Devit. There’s one in particular I’d like you to take. If you feel uncomfortable with it, I can offer you another.”

  “Let’s see what it is, ser.”

  Majora handed him the outline sheet.

  I waited for him to scan it before I began. “Here’s what we had in mind — a series of factual articles on brain-damping. The numbers should show, if I recall them, correctly, that a far higher percentage of norms and particularly low-income norms who are convicted of crimes or antisocial acts are brain-damped. We need to show those in human interest terms. Get shots of lifestyles and dwellings for comparative victims. I also want the background on who represents them, and who represents any pre-selects.”

  “I like it.” Tal offered a slow smile. “But we’ll lose market slots.”

  “It could be,” I conceded. “But it’s part of an overall program. This part is short-term. You and your researcher get the facts together, and work with the presentation folks to provide it with the background emphasis we need.”

  We talked for a while about possibilities and approaches before he left, assignment in hand.

  Next was Mustafa.

  “I want a short series on dwellings and residential communities — life-styles — who lives where, and in what style.”

  Then Recardo …

  “A series of factual and style pieces on transportation, who has gliders, and their operational and tax costs, magscooters … how transport limits or influences lifestyles and residence choice and location …”

  Cyhal followed Recardo.

  “I’d like some pieces on private schools, like Blue Oak Academy … what their student composition is, where their graduates go for higher education, where older grads are now, and what they’re doing — at least some emphasis on whether pre-select background makes any difference, or whether it’s just creds …”

  Mahmad was next, and I’d checked his background and decided he was the one to handle another special project, except I didn’t tell him how special.

  “… need some analytical and mood pieces on the movement to make multilaterals more profitable and accountable to stakeholders … is this a fad … a symptom of something deeper … who’s behind it … who benefits … what does it mean for the people who work for the affected multis … does it result in a change in leadership and how does the new leadership compare to the old … are there more pre-selects in the new structure, or fewer … more centralized decision-making, or less …”

  In the end, we handed out twenty assignments.

  The tough background pieces were mine and Majora’s, not so much tougher as more sensitive.

  Her deep brown eyes fixed on me. “How are you going to get numbers on perceptual testing? Under privacy, the more elite universities won’t let out those figures.”

  “We ask, and then note that they refused to supply figures. Then we set up some surveys. Students always want credits. Pay them to do the survey. We load the survey results with disclaimers, and note that some inaccuracies may exist, and invite anyone who has better data to provide it.”

  “Then we do the tie-ins — like reports that the majority of high-paying positions go to perceptually tested pre-selects?” Majora looked at me.

  I nodded.

  “What if the figures don’t match?”

  “We try something else, but I’ll bet they do. It may be that the key positions go to pre-selects, the decision-making ones.”

  “You’re playing with fire, Daryn. You know that, don’t you?” Majora shifted her weight in the green leather chair. I hadn’t seen her that tense ever.

  “No. I’m trying to light a backfire and clear out the tinder so that our children won’t get roasted in the conflagration that’s already building.”

  “Our children …?”

  I flushed.

  “Why … Daryn …” Her eyes sparkled. “You actually look embarrassed.”

  We laughed, and I stepped around the desk and hugged her, awkwardly, because she was still sitting. Then she stood and returned the hug.

  It was the best moment of the day.

  * * *

  Chapter 73

  Kewood

  * * *

  Majora and I were in my office, reviewing one of the latest InstaNews stories.

  Rumors have surfaced that the regional advocate general of West Noram is considering bringing legal action against the director general of UniComm for violations of the laws designed to insulate the Federal Union justiciary from pressure from the media.… Alwyn was recently involved in an incident in which three men were killed.… While Civil Aut
horities released Alwyn without charges, questions remain about the way in which the incident was handled.…

  “That’s the same sort of approach they used with Eldyn.” I shook my head. “About his wife’s death.”

  “What can you expect?” she said with a smile, reaching out and touching my hand. “You haven’t done anything wrong. They want to set it up so that if you do …”

  “I’m incarcerated and brain-damped. I know.”

  The gatekeeper informed me that Mother was calling, and I took it.

  “How are you doing, dear?” asked Mother.

  From what I could see, she was totally recovered from her bout with Eldyn’s plague. “It’s been rather busy here.”

  “How is your bride-to-be?”

  “She’s working hard, too. She’s right here.” I widened the scope so that Mother could take us both in.

  “So I see. I’m sending you a little trifle. It might help with some of your research.” She smiled blandly, then more brightly as she asked, “Have you two set a date?”

  I looked at Majora.

  “We’d thought sometime before the end of the year.”

  “Well … don’t wait to enjoy being with each other, not that you have, I suspect.” Her smile was polite, but her eyes twinkled. Then she was gone.

  Majora and I exchanged glances, then laughed.

  I checked the attachment that the gatekeeper had announced in the middle of the conversation.

  “What is it?” asked Majora.

  I swallowed. “It’s a manual … from Sante, Limited. Operating procedures.”

  “That’s St. Cyril’s multilateral.”

  I began to page through it. Most of it was pretty standard boilerplate although some of the sections offered hints of a more sinister aspect.

  … while not required, it is suggested that candidates for upper management positions consider perceptual integrative training of the type provided by Uy Associates.…

  Uy Associates was a subsidiary of TanSen, the TanUy multilateral.

  “Hints again,” Majora observed over my shoulder.