Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Bug jack one! Bug jack one! This is Jack three alpha. Taking fire from the south ridge.

  Even in winter, and in rain that the locals thought was cold, anywhere in Africa was too hot, at least at sea level, and Sassandra was never cold. Between the humidity and the rain, nothing worked quite the way it should.

  One here. Interrogative coordinates.

  Coordinates follow...

  A flare of energy wiped out the rest of the transmission.

  Jack three alpha, interrogative coordinates ... The link was dead.

  Energy flared to my right, and then the shells began walking through the brush, trees falling, crashing toward me...

  I sat upright in bed. Another variation on the old flashblacks. No communications, no way of finding out where anything was, and fire coming in from everywhere.

  After a moment, I got up and walked around the darkened bedroom, trying to cool down and dry off. Eventually, I did get back to sleep.

  When I got up on Sunday morning, two hours later, I ran yet another varied route—hard. While it helped my system and jumpiness, I was still worried about the DNA business and the sniper. I wanted to link Aliora, but she was always at church with the children on Sunday morning. Sometimes Dierk went, and sometimes he didn't.

  So after I got cleaned up and dressed, I went back to work on the H F report. I'd already decided to defrag the system and just get through it. That way, I could concentrate on the Centre report, without distractions.

  I checked the image comparator. The system hadn't found any, and reported that a full comparison would take over six months. I canceled the routine.

  At about two, I took a break and linked, hoping Aliora was in. She was. She was still wearing a tasteful navy blue dress. She usually wore dresses to church, but not often otherwise, unless the occasion happened to be formal.

  "Jonat... are you linking to get a compliment on your restraint with Charis?" She grinned.

  "That would be nice. You should like the outfit."

  "Charis said I would." She paused. "That's not why you linked."

  "It's not. Something happened yesterday. Did Charis mention the servie at Antoinette's?"

  "No."

  "He looked at me. It was as though his worst nightmare had appeared. He was petrified."

  "You haven't been...?" She shook her head. "He wasn't a Marine?"

  "Too young. Early twenties at best. You know the kind Maria likes, the almost Latin-lover type? Young, handsome, dark... that was him down to the last byte."

  "You can be fearsome, Jonat."

  "But not in a boutique with my niece, and that's the second time..." I went on to explain about the incident at Dominic's. I didn't mention the problem in Epaso or the sniper. "And you remember at the opera?"

  "You think someone's used your DNA for a clone or a cydroid?"

  "What would you think?"

  "I don't know."

  "There's no way to find out anything. I did report it to the safos, but all I talked to was one of the AIs. She ... the image was a woman ... took the information. That was strange, too. She claimed that there were no true AIs."

  "Why would it do that?"

  "Maybe to get a better voice profile," I answered. "I hadn't thought of that. But that would mean..."

  Aliora winced. "You are worried."

  "As I said, wouldn't you be?"

  "Is there anything you can do? Ask people ... check around?"

  I laughed. "Who would tell me anything? In a case like this, the Privacy Acts just make it harder. The safos have told me all they can ... or will. There's no way I can search the continental GIL files. The news nets can't report more than an outline of unidentified unregistered clones of cydroids, and they can't show faces until or unless there's a criminal conviction."

  "Would you want your face or your name used if someone filed a frivolous charge against you?" Aliora countered. "Would you want to go back to the days of the old USA, where there wasn't any such thing as privacy? Where anyone could link or net or print anything about anyone, so long as it couldn't be proved false?"

  "I don't know. Today, we're at the other extreme. All sorts of problems go on, just because no one can say anything, unless they have ironclad proof. You publicly suggest wrongdoing that you know is going on, and unless you've got more proof than it takes to convict the Executive's spouse, you'll be faced with a preemptory closure order and a judgment for damages. So there are conspiracies everywhere, and gray areas all over westside. In politics, the compromise is the 'fictional' drama. There the Privacy Acts prove a shield, because the claimant has to prove that the 'fiction' is truth, and who wants to admit to a crime or bad judgment publicly? And what about that new show, If This Was True..."

  "That's pretty bad, but it's still better than the old days."

  "Wasn't good then, and it's not good now."

  "That's life, Jonat."

  I supposed it was. I forced a smile. "So ... did she like the outfit?"

  "She did, and she also liked the lunch. You made her feel special, and little girls like that. Just so long as it's an occasional treat."

  "I listen to you on that, sister dear."

  "It's a good thing. You'd spoil her outrageously."

  "Probably not if I were in your position. It's fun to be an uncle. Besides, that's because she's nice to me, and she doesn't want that much."

  Aliora laughed. "She's smarter than that. She already knows she'll get far more from you that way. You'll give anything to someone who doesn't ask and who treats you with love and respect."

  "Nine years old, and she's already smarter than I am."

  "About that." Aliora paused. "You're not seeing anyone, are you?"

  "No. You know that."

  "Sometimes..." She forced a smile, one that vanished. "Have you heard the news?"

  "What news?"

  "Everett Forster was murdered last night."

  "What? How? He was going everywhere cydroid, I thought."

  "The safos and the nets aren't saying. There's speculation..."

  Speculation, again, theoretical possibilities.

  "... that it was a PAMD agent that bypassed his security system and shot him on his back veranda with a rifle from a distance."

  Bypassing a security system and still needing a rifle? "He has a big estate?"

  "Fairly large ... ten acres."

  Ten acres in Southhills easily cost thirty million creds. "Had to be a professional, then. The safos have every public millimeter of Southhills monitored, and Unite probably had every private millimeter scanned."

  "I can't see why they want him dead," Aliora said.

  "Because he's prominent, and because, after the furor over the new ion drive that Unite has developed, there's no way he'll ever make it available to the Martians or the Belters. That's just a guess, but it makes sense."

  "I still can't believe they don't have anyone in custody."

  That didn't surprise me, especially after my own experiences of the past days. "The nets might not know."

  She shrugged. "What are you going to do now?"

  "There's not much I could do, and I've got work to do."

  "That's all you do."

  "Might as well make credits instead of sitting around."

  "You'll never meet anyone holed up in your office."

  "I tried doing things to meet people, you might recall. I did it for over five years, and I never met anyone. I ran into Marilyn at a client's, and that lasted longer than any of the others."

  "Except Shioban."

  "Except Shioban," I agreed. "But I didn't meet her seeking people out, either."

  "Whatever you're doing, or not doing, brother dear, it's not working."

  She was right, but I didn't have any solutions.

  "Do you want to come to dinner on Friday?"

  "I can't. I'll be in Fargo."

  "Lucky you. What about the following Thursday?"

  "I should be free. I don't think I'm traveling then."

&
nbsp; "I'll check with you." Her face stiffened. "Your darling niece and her brother are at it again. I need to go." With that, the holo projection vanished.

  I went back to H F and the second-stage analyses.

  Chapter 29

  By noon on Wednesday, I'd accomplished a lot. I'd sent off the draft of the H F study to Bruce Fuller on Tuesday afternoon, and I'd organized and set up profiles on all eight campaigns for the Centre study. I'd even studied the very modest Kagnar linksite, which used a restrained form of prodplacing. Kagnar was seated, presumably in her house, with a few of the more trusted household products around her. As she talked, briefly, about her plans, there was a restrained chord here and there, again slightly modified, but calling up the feel of the trusted products. Overall, the effect was muted, and modest, but more than I'd expected, especially with the credit limits on lower house races.

  I'd finished the first go-round of the brief analysis of the site and a draft set of conclusions. The comparisons section would have to wait until I studied the Erle campaign.

  Just as I was offering self-congratulations, always a dangerous thing to do, the gatekeeper announced, Safety Officer Menendez, Epaso Office.

  I hadn't liked talking to the safo before, and I was certain I wouldn't like it any more a second time. I didn't have to accept, but not accepting would probably make him more convinced that I was guilty. Personally, I felt that I was responsible, but not guilty, but try to put that defense before the safos and the justiciary. Accept.

  Menendez smiled. "Dr. deVrai."

  I'd liked him better when he hadn't smiled. "Yes?"

  "We've looked more into this business about the security guards..."

  He was fishing. "And?"

  "Were you aware that they were not hired by the campaign at all?"

  That was a trap. "I'm afraid I'm confused. The security guards who stopped me in the River Plaza weren't hired by the campaign? What were they doing there?"

  "Ah ... I had thought you knew..."

  I shook my head. "Knew what? I really still don't know what this is all about. I was stopped by these guards in black at the River Plaza— going into the rally. You asked me if I'd seen them again. I said that I hadn't, and I didn't..." I paused. "I did see two men in black from a distance when I left the plaza, but I told you that."

  "Yes. You did." He paused. "It turns out that there were two sets of guards. Real guards and guards who were impostors."

  "I only met one set of guards, in the plaza. Were they real guards or impostors?"

  "We don't know which set you met, Dr. deVrai. That's why I linked. I was wondering if you might have noticed anything that would have pointed out which ones you met?"

  I had to shrug. "How would I know? The ones who stopped me wore black, like I told you. They knew I'd been to the previous rallies. To me, that meant that they had access to the campaign information, and I assume that meant that they were real security personnel."

  "Yes. I would have thought that, too. Thank you. I just wanted to confirm that."

  The projection vanished, and I was staring at the books in the shelves on my own office wall.

  If what Menendez had said was the truth, and that was a big assumption, my strongest feelings had been correct. Someone was playing an even deeper game. It also meant that Menendez knew or suspected that the guards whose memories I'd scrambled had been after me. Since they'd been carrying weapons that they probably weren't licensed to have, they could have been subjected to veradification. They wouldn't remember what happened, but they would likely remember that they had been ordered to do whatever they had been ordered to do to me. There was no proof that we'd ever met, but Menendez would certainly believe that we had, and that I had been the one who scrambled their memories. I wondered how long he'd pursue it.

  I'd been a Marine commando, not a covert agent, and intricacies within intricacies didn't appeal to me. But I didn't have much time to consider what those intricacies might be, not if I wanted to be ready to deal with the Kagnar and Erle campaigns.

  Once more, I looked at my bookshelves, vowing not to offer myself self-congratulations in the future, no matter how tempting the thought.

  Chapter 30

  After the others had filed out of the conference room, two women and Deng stood beside the ancient teak table.

  "Another meeting that resolved little." Mydra turned to the redhead. "Or did I miss something, Ghamel?"

  "About half the time, we don't accomplish much. This time, at least, everyone has begun to understand the importance of the effort to keep advanced media techniques out of election campaigns—and the cost of not doing so to us, and to the world." A smile curled across Ghamel's lips. "Even if we hadn't accomplished that, it's better to have the meetings and make sure no one feels cut off."

  "You had a concern you did not express." Deng's voice was low.

  "About the Centre study. The use of deVrai does concern me," Ghamel said deliberately. "I'd much rather have had a female analyst, someone like Erika Wadren. She's always been out just for herself."

  "That's the problem with someone like Wadren," replied Mydra. "They're known to sell themselves to the highest bidder, and deVrai won't." An ironic smile appeared.

  "You know something, perhaps?" inquired Deng.

  "Abraham Vorhees is furious at deVrai ... for just those reasons. DeVrai wrote a study for a client that suggested Vorhee's services were unnecessary and overpriced. If deVrai reports as he will, because it's clear that political use of rez tie-ins with trusted products benefits a candidate, no one will be able to refute his impartiality."

  "If deVrai is still alive," pointed out Ghamel. "Abraham isn't known to shy away from invisibles or other ways of removing obstacles."

  "I suggested that he warn deVrai and wait. Suggested strongly. He knows I have some ties with PST."

  "You think he will?" asked Ghamel.

  "Abraham is out for himself, but he's not stupid. After the study's complete ... does it matter? It might even be better if deVrai became a martyr to his impartiality."

  "If Vorhees were implicated, even by rumor," mused Deng, "that would strengthen the case for campaign reform."

  "It would also take care of Abraham, and that's long overdue."

  After a silence, Ghamel looked at Deng and asked, "You're sure that Uy-Smythe doesn't know anything about SPD? And the follow-on for deVrai?"

  "Uy-Smythe doesn't know about SPD. He knows that ISS provides moderate donations every year. That is all. He would not want to know more. He also knows that we ensure his foundation gets grants and prominent donors..."

  "And that, every once in a while," interjected Mydra, "he does some research for us, or publishes a study. We insist that the studies be accurate and impeccable, and that's all he cares about—besides the funding."

  "You don't think...?"

  "No. That's the beauty of it. Everyone in both the underlink and overlink worlds knows about ISS. They're supposed to. Industrial Security Systems—'For the Absolute in Protection.' Isn't that the slogan?"

  "That was the old one," Deng said." 'Impervious, Impenetrable.'"

  "Not very catchy."

  "We are not into catchy. Not for what we charge."

  "SPD says that someone named Wong contracted with deVrai for a study," pressed Ghamel.

  "There's more than that. There has to be," replied Mydra. "Wong's officially the district representative here in west NorAm for the Sinese Consumer Formulator Association. He's probably more than that."

  "They will play into our game."

  "They will?"

  "Maybe we'd better make sure that our postelection efforts are ready earlier," suggested Mydra.

  "Early December?"

  "That might be best."

  "I wish we could do something about that brother-in-law of deVrai's. His operation is costing us hundreds of millions."

  "Be patient. That is also part of the larger plan..."

  Chapter 31

  Thursday, I worked
mainly on the Centre report, and did more research on both the Kagnar and Erle campaigns. From everything that I could turn up, it was clear that Erle was underfunded in a district that was predominantly Laborite Republican and that he was likely to lose by a significant margin. Still, I'd need to present both sides and show whether whatever Kagnar did with placement or rez techniques increased or decreased what might be considered a "normal" LR margin in the sub-district.

  Friday morning arrived, and I was on the maglev to Minpolis, where I'd have to get off to take a flitter back northwest to Fargo. This was one of those few times when I wished I lived in the times of the Commonocracy. A flitter from Denv direct to Fargo would have been faster, but there weren't any, because flitters were prohibited from overlapping maglev routes or circumventing them. That meant traveling as close as possible by maglev and then taking a flitter. So I had four and a half hours on the maglev, an hour wait for the commuter flitter, and an another hour flitter flight, when I could have been there in half the time if I could have taken a flitter direct or in two-thirds the time if the maglev had run to Fargo.

  So while on the maglev I sat in a quiet corner seat in the exec car and studied all the information I'd gathered on Kagnar, Erle, Fargo, and Jameston. From what I could gather, Fargo had originally been the largest commercial and population center in the northern High Plains area. The subdistrict in which Kagnar was running for the House seat had once been an entire state in the Commonocracy. Jameston was smaller, roughly a third the size of Fargo. Both were located on rivers.

  Once the maglev got me to Minpolis, I took the local maglev shuttle to the flitterport, where I waited and studied more. An hour and a half later, the flitter landed me and twelve others at Hector Field at almost four-thirty. Once the field had been an airport, back when the skies had been filled with aircraft. Now, it did a business renting groundcars to travelers, not that there were that many.

  The groundcar was an Altus, but only two years old, and it smelled of nothing except a faint hint of ionization. I eased away from the flitterport, heading toward the center of Fargo, and the High Plains Hotel, which was almost across the street from the Fargodome—the third of that name—where Kagnar's rally was being held at seven in the evening.