Cybernation nf-6

by Tom Clancy

  It was crowded — Fuji-yama was always crowded, sometimes hundreds of people walking in a long serpentine line, only a few inches apart, laughing, talking, enjoying themselves. It wasn’t Mount Everest. More than a hundred thousand people a year climbed the sacred mountain. Now and again, one would die making the ascent, usually from a heart attack, but sometimes from heat exhaustion or dehydration. It was cool, maybe ten degrees above freezing at the top today, but a steady climb produced a lot of heat, and the heavy jackets tended to come off pretty quick.

  The old saying in Japan was you were a fool not to climb the mountain once, and a bigger fool if you climbed it twice.

  Jay watched the pilgrims slog past, many with walking sticks — canes, staves — backpacks holding small children, even a seeing-eye dog leading a blind man. Old, young, fit, flabby, tourists, seekers, dressed in every color of the rainbow and a lot of hues not found anywhere in nature.

  It was not a totally safe climb, however, even for those in good shape. Falling rocks injured or killed people, if rarely. Those who wandered off the trail had sometimes fallen. And now and again, a tourist would be hit by lightning, sometimes out of the blue. Jay carried a small transistor radio Velcroed to his backpack, tuned to a time sig from somewhere. Supposedly, if the radio started blasting out a lot of static, it was a good idea to hit the ground and lie flat.

  Weather was not particularly stable from the base to the top, and what started out sunny could be foggy, rainy, or snowy in a matter of a few minutes. The place made its own weather.

  The Climbing Safety Guidance Center was located at the Sixth Station, First Aid Station at the Seventh. Climbing during the off-season was not encouraged. Those who felt the need were required to clear their climbing gear with the Fujiyoshida Police Station. Failure to do so as a tourist would get you kicked out of the country if caught, heavily fined if you were a local.

  It was a good idea to bring proper clothing, water, food, and toilet paper.

  Assuming you made it to the top, you could visit the shrine, mail a postcard at the post office, and explore the volcanic crater. You could also buy souvenirs, very expensive, and the big show was to watch the sunrise above the sea of clouds that often shrouded the earth below.

  Jay had made the climb five times. In VR, that is. He wanted to try it in RW some day. Since meeting Saji, he was no longer worried that the real thing might not live up to the artificial experience.

  Saji. Ah, there was something to think about when he got to the top. As he had been thinking about her most of the way up so far.

  An old man, white-haired, seventy, darkly tanned, came and sat on the bench next to him. He looked as if he might be Thai. He wore gray wool slacks over waffle-soled hiking boots, a white shirt under a blue Gore-Tex wind-breaker, white cotton gloves, and dark sunglasses. He smiled at Jay.

  “Nice day for a climb, isn’t it?”

  Jay nodded. This wasn’t a private scenario, but a public one run by Tokyo University. Some, maybe all, of the climbers could be personas of real people. Many of the visuals were lifted right from the net-cams that watched the mountain year-round. “Yes, it is,” he said.

  They sat there, not speaking for a few moments, then the old man got up. “Well, that’s enough rest for the wicked. See you around, Jay.”

  Jay nodded and smiled, and it was a full two seconds before he realized that the man had called him by name.

  “Hey! Hold it!”

  But the old man developed a speed and broken-field running ability that would have shamed a star football quarterback on a ninety-yard touchdown run. And he laughed loud and almost maniacally as he did so.

  Somebody is seriously playing with me, Jay thought.

  And it seemed to Jay in that moment that it must be somebody who knew him.

  But — who?

  On the Bon Chance

  Jackson and his crew were well away from the ship when Roberto returned from his mission. Jackson had called, was already working using his flatscreen and modem from the helicopter, and obviously feeling much better.

  Chance had read about the senator’s accident on the NetNewsNow headline page within an hour of the event. DeWitt would live, but doctors were not sure that he would walk again.

  Too bad. But you had to factor that in — you couldn’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.

  DeWitt was a fly removed from the ointment.

  Now, as she waited for Roberto to arrive at her office — she didn’t want to invite him to her cabin and have him refuse — she considered yet again how she was going to play this.

  Roberto wasn’t the brightest bulb on the string, but neither was he stupid. He was cunning, in a sly way, but his view of the world was limited, much more personal than global. She was smarter than he was, she knew it, and manipulation was one of her strengths. She could bend him in her direction. She had the skills.

  He smiled when he sauntered into the small office she kept. “Missy. It is done.”

  “I heard. As ever, you are a man to be relied upon. Thank you.”

  He shrugged.

  “Listen,” she said. “I have sent Jackson away.”

  His eyebrows went up.

  “It was a mistake. You know how I am. I am weak about sex, I crave it. I am sorry. But it was wrong, I admit that. So Jackson is gone; he’ll be working on the train from now on — you never have to see him again if you don’t want. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  “Anything you want.”

  He smiled.

  She could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Of course Missy realized her mistake, how could she not? He was much man, while Jackson was a boy, one who diddled computers and did nothing for real. Only a fool would prefer him over Roberto, and Missy, slut that she was, was no fool. This was only right.

  “I will think about it,” he said.

  She held her smile in check. She had him.

  “Thank you, Roberto.” Don’t lay it on too thick, she told herself, just enough so he sees you as contrite, and willing to kneel for his forgiveness. Let him think about what he is missing — what he could be missing in addition to that.

  He would come around.

  She watched him stroll out, walking with that cocksure swagger that men of physical prowess displayed, like big cats who could spring at any second, relaxed, but ready, a coiled spring waiting for instant release.

  And he really was much better in bed than Jackson.

  23

  In the Air over the North Atlantic

  Keller felt better. He knew intellectually this wasn’t altogether realistic, his relief — Santos was as portable as he was, and if he really wanted to come and get him, he could; still, having a thousand miles of space between himself and the killer was better than not. Besides, he didn’t think Santos would do that, come after him. Jasmine should be able to protect him, and certainly she could distract the man if she put her mind to it. She was very talented when it came to distracting men, Keller knew for sure. He’d never been with anybody like her, not even close. She knew things he had never heard of, never imagined. The tricks she could do…

  That was the problem. He should have never let himself get into that situation in the first place, but, ah, she was something. How could a normal man refuse? She could raise a cold sweat on a brass monkey, raise some other parts of his anatomy, too.

  Still, as soon as he’d climbed onto the copter, Keller had felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. He was able to get on-line and screw with Jay Gridley some more without looking over his shoulder. To have fun with it.

  He leaned back in the first-class seat of the 747 heading for Germany and stared through the window. Dueling with a man like Gridley, that was a civilized way of doing things. You used your skill, your wit, your intelligence. Your opponent appreciated these things, respected them, even if he opposed you. There were rules, many of them unstated but understood nonetheless, and adhered to, proper ways to engage and cont
end. Civilized men knew these things — they knew how the game was played.

  A man like Santos? He appreciated nothing but brute force. Violence. It didn’t matter to him that you were smarter, that you had talent and skill. No, all that mattered to him was the fist in the face, the foot to the crotch. He was a savage, no matter how you cleaned him up and dressed him, a jungle creature with a sharp stick. If you explained this to him, he would laugh. If you protested his lowbrow, knuckle-dragging demeanor, he would kick sand in your face. He would rather hurt people than not.

  Keller shook his head. How could you reason with a man like that? You couldn’t. Jasmine wound him up like some demented killing toy and set him loose to do her dirty work. She used money, not to mention her sexual favors, like a carrot to entice a mule into her bidding. You didn’t take a stick to a beast like Santos. He would turn around and rip your arm off if you tried it. The man was an animal, with the morals of a cat. Pure evil, not a whit of guilt, a sociopath.

  Still and all, Santos was necessary. CyberNation had to go forward. Whatever means were necessary were justified. Just as abolitionists of a century and a half past had broken immoral laws to help the slaves, so would those engaged in the fight to bring CyberNation to life be revered as freedom fighters decades from now. Living on the cutting edge was risky, but it had to be done — for the greater good. If a few men had to suffer so that mankind as a whole would progress… was this not how it had been since before the beginning of history?

  Yes. It was.

  A man like Jay Gridley, even if he couldn’t be persuaded to your side of the argument, could be outmaneuvered, could be defeated, using the tools that would eventually be society’s redemption. Deep in his heart, whether he would admit it or not, Gridley knew that the old rules, the old ways, had to move aside. Progress marched on. It always had, and if you stood in its path, you got run over, that was the way of it. The question was not if, but when. The choice was between evolution and revolution. Even Gridley would admit to that. He was for evolution, a status quoist, but he had not always been so inclined. Neither, for that matter, had the country. Had not the United States of America been born of revolution, guns against outmoded laws? Could they not see that such cycles would come again? That the fast wheel was sometimes better than the slow one?

  People who were comfortable had a selective kind of blindness. They saw what they wanted to see, and ignored the things they did not wish to notice. Like a horse with blinders on, they had no vision save straight ahead.

  Now and again, somebody had to come by and pull the horse’s blinders off, cut his traces, and slap him on the rump. Run free, my friend! The future awaits you out there!

  The drone of the big jet engines lulled him. Here he was, on a craft bigger than the ships that had crossed the seas from Europe to open up the Americas, a flying vessel that was so big and so heavy that no one on Earth would have taken a bet that it could fly, even a hundred years ago. The jet could travel thousands of miles without re-fueling, cover a distance in a few hours that would have taken the wind-blown sailors months in their wooden ships with canvas sail. The electronics in this bird would boggle the minds of the creators of Univac. You didn’t turn back from such wonders. The future ran only one way, and the next revolution was not going to be in machines, but in knowledge. The global community would be one, together, able to reach out and touch each other faster than thought itself.

  Once that happened, men like Santos would be superfluous. They could be quietly eliminated. The strongest man could be brought low by a bullet to the head. The hand that pulled the trigger need not be any stronger than that of a child. As the mammoths had fallen before the technology of the spear and fire, so, too, would men like Santos, who flexed their muscles instead of their brains, eventually join the ranks of the extinct beasts who were strong, but stupid.

  The mind was more powerful. Brain won over brawn.

  At least in theory. Given his recent experience with Santos, Keller realized there was going to be a transition period before the thugs and mugs went the way of the dodo. And during that period, it would be smart to stay out of the way of the brutes as they flailed about in their death throes. Yes, indeed.

  Washington, D.C.

  In bed next to Saji, both of them reading, Jay sighed. “What?”

  “This biz with this guy,” he said. “I feel like somehow I’m missing something I shouldn’t.”

  She put her book down and looked at him. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. There’s something, some kind of, I don’t know, familiar feel to the traps and touches. Like the Fuji thing. Why appear as an old Thai? Why come and sit next to me and then give it away like that?”

  “He knows you’re part Thai,” she said. “He’s playing with your head.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but something is weird about it. I feel as if I should know this guy.”

  She sat quietly for a moment. Then said, “What else is bothering you?”

  “Me? Nothing. Work is all.”

  She said, “Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.” He looked at her. “What are you getting at?”

  A short time passed before she spoke. Then she said, “Are you really ready to get married?”

  He blinked. The question that had been on his mind for weeks sounded terrifying when it came from her. “How can you ask that? Of course I am!”

  “Okay.”

  “What — are you having second thoughts?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “What? Really?” He sat up straighter. His gut churned with sudden cold, as if he’d swallowed a cup of liquid nitrogen. “Why?”

  “You know the Four Noble Truths,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Yeah. There’s suffering in the world. There’s a reason for this suffering. There’s an end to it. There’s a way to learn how to end it, using the Eightfold path.”

  “Close enough. And the Eightfold path?”

  “What is this, a bedtime quiz?”

  She shrugged. “You asked.”

  “Okay, we’re talking, ah — right understanding, right thinking, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right, uh, effort. Lemme see, ah, right mindfulness, and — don’t tell me, I got it — right concentration.”

  “Yes. And the Middle Path is the way many of us seeking enlightenment choose. Staying away from the extremes.”

  “Okay. So? What’s this got to do with you having second thoughts about us?”

  “I fear that my desire for you is sometimes too strong,” she said. “That having a desire this powerful, that being so attached to it, will ultimately be the cause of suffering. Not being with you, but wanting to be with you too much.”

  “Listen, I’ve tried to plug into this, but I’ve never really understood it. What does that mean?”

  She smiled at him. “Admission of ignorance is the first step on the road to wisdom.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s not that we can’t be together, married, and happy. Each moment should be what it is, and there is much joy to be found in each moment. But the idea is to not be attached to that, not to want the joy so much that you can’t experience it. You can… get in your own way. You can spend all your time trying to live for the future, full of expectation, or living in the past, full of nostalgia. Either will cause suffering, because you can have neither. The past is gone, the future never arrives.”

  “So are you saying you don’t want to get married?”

  “No, idiot, you’re not listening. I do. Maybe too much, that’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to make you responsible for my happiness, because if I do, sooner or later, I’ll be disappointed and unhappy.”

  “That’s real comforting, sweetie.”

  “It’s the truth. Reaching outside yourself for happiness is the big cause for suffering. I want to stand next to you, but not depend on your shadow to protect me from the sun. Suppose I put all my life into you, into us. And it works great, you give me back all I give you and
more.”

  “Sounds right to me. What’s the problem?”

  “You change your mind in ten years, decide you don’t want to be here.”

  “I won’t—”

  “Okay, better example — you get hit by a bus in six months. You don’t have the choice to stay or go, your number is up.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to miss me if I get hit by a bus?”

  “No. I’m saying that I want to be happy on my own, so that what I bring to us is real and true. Marriage is a partnership. If I don’t come to the table with my half, it’s not fair to either of us.”

  He shook his head. He really didn’t understand. She was worried that she might want him too much? How was that a bad thing? His fear was that he would lose something of himself by marrying her. That was different.

  Wasn’t it?

  He felt her hand slide across his leg. “Whoa. What have we here?”

  “The moment, Jay. No past, no future, just right now.”

  He grinned. Okay. He could deal with that. Oh, yeah. Definitely.

  But it bothered him that she was worried about the marriage thing. Given how he had felt lately, that shouldn’t bother him at all, but it did. Was that a double standard? Probably, but — ah!

  She overrode his thoughts with her actions, and in the moment, he stopped worrying and was happy.

  On the Bon Chance

  Santos was satisfied, at least for the moment. He had made Missy do some things she ordinarily did not do — and that was saying something. She would be sore in new places tomorrow. He was not done punishing her, and Jackson would not get off just because he had run away to Germany, but he could wait. All in good time.

  Did he trust her? No, certainly not. She was a slut, and she was out for herself, that had not changed, no matter what she said. Her skill would only buy her so much, but for now, it was worth enjoying. When he went home, he would find younger women who did not know the arts of love, and teach them to please him in the ways Missy did. Only they would not have her devious mind and need to be in control. Smart women, ambitious women, they were dangerous, to be avoided. Young, beautiful, and stupid, that was what he preferred. And if they got smarter with age? There were always fresh ones waiting to take their place.