Archform Beauty

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  How much do you need?

  Go over it with Brianne. She's got the story. Something Cannon's done in the Senate.

  He's always doing something. The last thing I wanted to dig up was statistics on the medical costs of treating immigrants. If they were for Kerras, he'd want something to imply the taxpayers would never get their credits' worth, and Brianne would want something to show that both the nanomeds and the education were great. I had problems with both, when I'd seen too many kids from westside and northside who couldn't afford any real health care.

  Get on the Dewey stuff!

  Bimstein was gone, and I had to start scrambling. The electral stats were easy enough. NorAm Transport Department had those. Only 973 fatalities in all NorAm in the previous year. I threw in a comparison to historical times, when more people died annually in internal combustion engine vehicle accidents than in some wars.

  The guideway maintenance was harder. I couldn't really do that, so I fudged around it, by using the overall maintenance budget and the past year's admin and overhead costs, and standard contracting-out percentages, and then qualified the whole mess by noting that the figures were preliminary estimates based on existing public data. What else could I do?

  Once I finished off the Dewey stuff and whipped it to Metesta, I took a deep breath, before starting in on the medical and educational stuff for whatever Cannon was up to. But my mind was still on the McCall story. It nagged at me, but I pushed it aside and linked to Brianne. There was no sense in giving her the wrong slant.

  Brianne? Ah… this is Jude. What do you want on the immigrant stuff?

  Jude… There was an impression of a sigh. You know what I want. Everyone's treating these poor people like it was their fault that they had to leave Afrique. They're people, not numbers. Senator Cannon has this bill—it's an amendment he got attached to the health appropriations that will make them repay part of their nanomed and medical upgrades. Unless there's an outcry, it's going to become law, and that will establish a precedent…

  That people ought to pay for improved health?

  Jude! Those people don't have our advantages.

  I decided against arguing. You want numbers and vignettes about what a contribution they make and how they've struggled to get here, and how the children of immigrants make a disproportionate contribution so that we get it all back and then some over the years?

  Don't be so sarcastic.

  I wasn't. Is that the line you want?

  Without the sarcasm, thank you.

  How soon?

  Five tonight. Feed it to Kirenga.

  You'll have what I can get. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I've been swamped.

  That's all right. I understand. Bimstein's getting on everyone. There was a laugh.

  Thanks.

  After that, I worked for nearly two hours on the immigrant numbers without Bimstein blasting through the link, and I guessed that he'd been satisfied with the Dewey stuff.

  Parsfal? Les Kerras here. What did you want?

  The McCall thing.

  It's dead.

  I know. It shouldn't be. Someone circulated a rumor that Nanette McCall was filing for divorce. It was wrong. Also, they didn't know her. She always went by Nanette Iveson. I've talked to a lot of people about Evan McCall. First, he was deeply in love with her. Second everyone agrees the man was a legal genius and a complete technical idiot. He couldn't turn off a nanite screen without written step-by-step instructions. Third, he used to be with O'Bannon and Reyes, and he had dealings with Chris Kemal…

  Lots of people have to deal with Kemal…

  It stinks, Les…

  There was a long silence, and I wondered if he'd broken the link.

  I might… might… be able to work it into a cast if you can get me something more, something solid.

  How would I get that? I don't have any contacts with DPS, not in homicide.

  You don't want to go to homicide. Go to DPS trends. Lieutenant Chiang. Eugene Tang Chiang. Solid westside boy. Don't use dazzle. Be direct and honest. Only thing he respects.

  Lieutenant Chiang.

  You got it. And if he'll give you something, then we'll see.

  I nodded. Kerras didn't feel any better about it than I did, and he'd been told not to pursue it. He hadn't been told not to have me pursue it. I'd been right about it, but that didn't make me feel good at all.

  I tried Chiang at DPS, but only got his simmie. I left a link-message.

  This is Jude Parsfal at NetPrime. I was hoping you could help me with some trend information. I had decided to use the mysterious OD stuff as the entry. That was a legit question no matter what.

  Then I went back to the immigration numbers. I did manage to unearth a study that showed that the children of immigrants made more credits than the average NorAm citizen, and using the baseline numbers, and calculating the numbers of immigrants, I could make a case that the children's taxes more than paid for their parents' medical costs, even with time-discounting. I knew Brianne would love that, and I was pleased that I didn't have to do too many statistical contortions to come up with that.

  A holo image popped up in front of me. "Chiang here. You called?" The man in the holo image wore a dark blue singlesuit that was close to the street uniform of the DPS—but wasn't. He was lightly bronzed with short black hair and a square face, and well muscled. He had the wary and polite look that all senior DPS types seemed to wear with or without their uniforms.

  "Ah… yes, I did. Les Kerras said you might be able to help me on a couple of things. First, we've been hearing that ODs are up and that the DPS hasn't been able to find the drug causing the problem. We've reported it, but I was looking for more background, if you had it.”

  Chiang laughed, not mockingly, but ruefully. "Background only. Have been some deaths with OD symptoms. Moderate levels of soop, sometimes alkie, but always soop in their blood. No foreign substances in their blood. None. Contacted CDC. Twenty years of studies. No negative effects from those levels of alkie and no negative effects from soop. None.”

  "None? But people are dying, mostly young ones.”

  "Background only,” Chiang reiterated. "All are young people. We've asked CDC to look into it. Has to be a city thing. So far, only showed up in Denv, Lanta, and Porlan and one or two other places. All population centers. Absolute numbers still low.”

  "Something that targets the young… hmmm. Can you suggest anyone else who might know something?"

  "Could try CDC.” Chiang's expression told me that they didn't know or weren't likely to tell me.

  "I had another question. I did the background research for the McCall case—"

  "Mr. Parsfal. That's a closed investigation. He committed suicide. The Department made a serious error. We admitted it.”

  I paused. There was something there. I knew there was. "I see. Well… Les Kerras said you'd set me straight.” I paused. "Maybe I could stop by and chat with you about the ground rules of what I should ask and what I shouldn't. It could save us both time in the future.”

  "Could.”

  "What about tomorrow?"

  "Nine hundred. Have to be short.”

  "Nine hundred it is.”

  There was something there. Chiang wouldn't have agreed so easily if there weren't. He also didn't want it on an open transmission.

  I finished up the numbers for Brianne and fed the package to Kirenga, complete with fancy holo graphs and even an animated segment.

  After that, I decided to look into the OD business more. First, I combed the nets. The numbers were there, but not the names, for the most part. By checking obits, news on all the nets, I managed to come up with six names. Six out of more than four times that number over the past week and a half.

  With the privacy restraints, I could only find three names of others who might be family. I took a deep breath and made the first link, to a Donal Samelo.

  All I got was a voice-over, not even a simmie. So I left a message.

  "This is Jude Pars
fal. I'm a researcher, and I was wondering if you could help me with some background information…”

  No one cut in, and I went to the second name. This time I got a simmie, and a tired-looking woman appeared halfway through my spiel.

  "What do you really want? You selling something?"

  "No. I'm a researcher, and I'm looking into the causes of ODs…”

  "You people never stop!"

  I just waited.

  "You want to blame everyone! Frederico was a good boy. He never even tried any drugs. The DPS said so.”

  "That's why I'm looking into this,” I interjected. "We're looking into the possibility that it wasn't an OD…” I don't know why, exactly, I said that, but at times your instincts are better than your rationality.

  She stopped and looked at me, as if I might actually be human.

  Before she could say anything more, I spoke. "All I'd like to know is what Frederico did that night, anything different he might have eaten or done. Nothing more.”

  "He just went to the Red Moon, like I told the DPS. He and Carmencita had dinner here. We had carnitos and beans—"

  "Flour or corn tortillas?"

  "Corn flour.”

  "Any new or different salsa?"

  "No. Same as I always make. Everything was the same.”

  "Do you know what he did at the Red Moon?"

  "Carmencita said they just listened to this new rezrapper. Hot Ice or Cold something. They had drinks, non-alkie. Frederico couldn't afford any more.”

  "Did he have any soop before he left?"

  "He had just a little jolt. Just enough to feel good for the music, he said.”

  "Did Carmencita?"

  "They both did… but it was so little. The DPS said that couldn't do it. People been taking soop for years.”

  "How did they get there?"

  "Took the shuttle and walked.”

  "Can you think of anything different? Anything at all?"

  She shook her head.

  I wished I could have thought of something more. Instead, I just thanked her.

  The last name got me a high-class simmie, and no response to my message. After that, I sat back in my cubicle. There was something there, and I couldn't put my mind on it.

  Finally, I put through a search on resonance advertising. I got thousands of references. I tried again, limiting it to recent scholarly articles. There was one, in the latest edition of Physiological Psychology, entitled "Culturally Attuned Rhythmitonal Resonance—Myth or Fact?" It wasn't what I recalled, but it would do, and I had the system print out two hard copies for me. It wouldn't hurt to see Chiang bearing gifts, so to speak.

  You have an incoming from John Ashbaugh, the gatekeeper announced.

  Accept. I flicked up the holo display.

  "Jude, you left a message.”

  "I've been trying to reach Marc Oler for days. You know any way to get to him?"

  John looked mildly surprised. "It's hard to reach someone who's dead.”

  "Dead?"

  "He was one of the first victims of this ebol4 strain. I thought…” He shook his head. "There's no way you would have known.”

  "Who was McCall's other junior associate?"

  "That's Caron Hildeo. She just accepted a position back at O'Bannon and Reyes, but as a senior associate. James was most solicitous, under the circumstances, even promoting her.”

  "It sounds that way.” I shook my head. "It's still hard to believe that McCall jumped off a tower… such a bright man, and…”

  "You're trolling, Jude.”

  I grinned. "How about biting then, John?"

  "How could I do anything there? That's a murder that turned into a suicide, and I'm but a poor securities solicitor.”

  "So tell me something about securities.” I grinned and tried to think of the most outlandish thing that I could, involving Kemal, because I wondered if he were somehow involved in the McCall thing. I figured that John might give me something else. It was worth a try. "Tell me that Kemal's outfit is involved in complex securities manipulations verging on the illegal and unethical.”

  John couldn't quite hide the jolt, and I pounced. "So what is he up to?"

  "That's against—"

  "He's not your client. You told me that years ago. Rumors aren't covered by solicitor-client privacy.”

  John sighed.

  I stared.

  "Rumor… and for background only, and if one word comes back about me, I'll never talk to you again. About anything. Ever.”

  "Agreed.”

  "Rumor is that he's using laundered funds to buy his way into legitimate space industry formulation.”

  "Speculation only… but would McCall have known that?"

  John frowned. "He might have. He was Kemal's privacy solicitor. But Kemal used O'Bannon and Reyes, and even Flemmerfeld, Hayes, and D'Aboul.”

  "What sort of space industry formulation?"

  "Something big. Maybe the biggest. I can't say more.” His lips tightened. "I really can't.”

  "All right. I won't press. But… if something comes up, and more than a few people know about it… would you let me know?"

  He nodded.

  "Thanks, John. I'll let you know if I find anything else.”

  I was suddenly looking at a blank holo display, and I collapsed it.

  I hoped I'd handled it right. There's a fine line between squeezing as much as you can and stopping short so that you can go back later.

  The weather stuff I owed Istancya was still waiting, and I settled back at my console. I had a bit more research to do on the rezrap angle—where the "new" rezrappers were playing. I needed that because it was my angle with Chiang. All because the McCall story wouldn't go away. I wished I understood why. Or maybe, it was as the Irishman had put it,

  But something is recalled,

  My conscience or my vanity appalled.

  There were times, so many times, when the beauty of the words contrasted with the utility of what I did. Yet… didn't seeking and revealing truth have a beauty?

  Didn't it?

  Chapter 26

  Kemal

  There are advantages to having assets. One of them was the large indoor pool at the house. I swam a klick every morning before breakfast, more if I had time.

  After I swam on Wednesday morning, I pulled myself out, then sat at my table. The smell of the orange trees and the humidity was welcome. So was the aroma of the coffee with the waiting breakfast. Breakfast was simple. Fruit, scrambled egg, dry toast, and juice. The fruit was a Valencia orange from one of the trees in the pool room.

  I linked to the house net. Armand? I'd like you to come to the pool.

  Yes, ser.

  Armand had been a systems tech before he'd lost his temper and maimed a coworker, and then assaulted a DPS det. He'd been very good in the martial arts. Now, he was a permie, and in charge of maintenance for the house, and most of the family.

  Armand was a very special permie. He'd cost me a great deal. He was like every other permie, except in two respects. His nanites were programmed so that he could not tell anyone what he talked over with me. Second, and most important, any instructions I gave him overrode the permie conditioning. They had to be from me in person and by voice. Other than that, he was a permie. He told the truth about everything—except he couldn't say anything about anything concerning me, and he couldn't say anything about anything I told him not to speak about. All he could say was, "I don't know.”

  Armand was perfectly happy with the arrangement. The nanites saw to that as well.

  I'd finished the orange and half the egg and toast when Armand appeared. He was three centimeters shorter than I was, but with wider shoulders and black hair.

  "Mr. Kemal.”

  "Please sit down, Armand.” I turned on the privacy shield that screened the table—only my table.

  Armand sat across from me.

  "My nephew Stefan has become very careless, Armand.”

  "Yes, ser.”

  "He h
as a brand-new Tija electral. The kind with two fuel cells. Are you familiar with the system?"

  "Yes, ser.” Armand's voice was flat. Not so flat as that of many pennies, but flat.

  "Stefan has become very dangerous to the safety of the family. I'd like you to take care of it. The Tijas can become very unstable at high speeds. Could you make the Tija even more unstable?"

  "I could, ser.”

  "And could you make sure that the fuel cells exploded when the Tija rolled? And that no one could escape? Without leaving any evidence?"

  Armand frowned. He thought for a moment. "Yes, ser.”

  "I'm telling you to do that when you check the systems at his house today. If you leave immediately, he'll still be sleeping.”

  "Yes, ser.”

  "Let me know if you have any trouble.”

  "Yes, ser.”

  "Thank you, Armand. You may go.”

  "Yes, ser.”

  I released the privacy screen as he left.

  Marissa crossed the pool deck from the exercise room. She was wearing pale green shorts and a matching sleeveless top. She carried her own breakfast—fruit, yogurt, dry toast, and a large mug of coffee. She sat down to my right.

  "What were you talking to Armand about, dear?" asked Marissa.

  "Some maintenance tasks. I want him to be extra careful in inspecting things.”

  "You're worried, aren't you?"

  "I am. KC is becoming big enough to have enemies outside of Denv, even outside of NorAm.”

  "You've been big enough to have enemies across NorAm for almost ten years,” she pointed out. "Senator Cannon has been after you for five years.”

  "He doesn't understand business. Somehow, he thought it was moral if Dewey rewarded his cousins at GSY, but immoral if we made money and cost the taxpayers less. It's all right to reward relatives if two companies are involved, but wrong if only one is.” I laughed. "Politicians!"

  "Coordinator Dewey seemed sincere,” Marissa pointed out. "It was a shame that he died in that accident yesterday.”

  "Poetic justice, but I can't point that out. He wanted divestiture. That meant worse maintenance. He died because the maintenance was bad. Can you imagine what would happen if I said anything right now?"