Flash

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  I got the gist of his message—unfortunately. "Of course, most people don't see ideas as commodities, but, in a way they are. The problem with an idea being stifled by an institution is that so often those who stifle the ideas are lost behind the facades of the institutions, and one could chase hundreds of people trying to find who might be the right person to persuade."

  "Ah ... that is true. Sometimes, it is simple, as when those who stifle ideas are in charge of the institutional security. At other times, they may be in charge of appearances, or of communications. Sometimes, all three." Wong smiled. "But doubtless, you have surmised such all along. I did want to thank you again for your presentation. You will be receiving an invitation to our winter open house in early February."

  "That is something I would look forward to."

  "We always try to invite a wide range of guests. Some, of course, do not attend. I've been trying to entice Jacques Alistar for a time, but you know the communications types. They smile, but they're hard to pin down."

  "Some people are."

  "I must not keep you, but I appreciate knowing that you are well and recovering." Wong smiled and was gone.

  I swallowed. Unless I was reading too much into subtlety, Wong had as much as told me that Tarn Lin Deng and Jacques Alistar were the ones after me. He'd also made a big deal about ideas ... and their cost.

  I stiffened. Cost... campaigns ... politics ... With that I keyed in two inquiries, and got back the answers almost immediately.

  Crosslin's campaign reform bill was the first one, and I went over it section by section. When I finished, I understood—at least part of what was going on. It was simple, and oh so obvious, except no one seemed to have put the pieces together. I frowned. That wasn't right. Someone had because this was why either the PAMD or a sympathetic organization had handled the election the way they had.

  The PAMD know they couldn't get control of the Senate, but they or the PD itself had set up Carlisimo's campaign as a diversion. The seats that had counted were those in the House, the ones where the candidates had been attacked. Attacks by outsiders didn't count against spending limits, or against volunteer restrictions.

  There were a number of reform provisions in the Crosslin bill, and all seemed like good ideas. Some might have been, but I was skeptical. No more than 10 percent of the volunteers could come from outside the contested electoral district. That sounded fine, but any multi could transfer in "employees" for a year or two. Nor could more than 25 percent of any candidate's funding come from sources outside the district, but what was to prevent transferring key personnel into a district? Those were minor compared to two other provisions. By limiting "public media" expenditures, and prohibiting any form of rez-based or enhanced presentation, Crosslin was effectively slanting the electoral playing field to the LR side, because the LR had the advantage in name recognition, structural support—everything that wasn't limited. Now ... I knew as well as anyone that such advantages are transitory over time, and in ten or twenty years those structural advantages would change, but what it meant was that the LR—under the guidance of the PST group—would control NorAm for the next decade ... and all that implied for Martian Independence. What they didn't see, or didn't care about, was that people who were structurally oppressed, and felt that way, have a nasty tendency to turn violent.

  Then, I reflected, maybe Deng and company did see that. More violence would certainly boost ISS revenues and fortunes.

  The second inquiry was on Jacques Alistar. He was almost ten years younger than I was, and the deputy director general of NEN— NordEstNet—the big EuroCom communications net. Alistar had his office in Denv, and was in charge of NorAm operations. The projected file image showed a blue-eyed blond man with an elfin chin. He had the hearty open expression that I associated with people who were usually good at concealing more than they revealed. Needless to say, there was very little on Alistar, except his education, his position, and the single image. There was an office address in old NorthTech, but no personal address. I shuffled through the printouts that Central Four had provided. She had also highlighted his name. Interesting.

  Another chill hit me when I realized, all too belatedly, that in this elaborate set of moves and countermoves, I wasn't just a convenient tool for the Centre and PST, but right in the middle of everything. Wong, and probably the entire Sinese power bloc, were trying to use me to stop Deng and the PST group—because it had to be the entire group—and the PST group and the Centre had used me to provide the evidence to support the Crosslin bill and campaign "reform."

  What Wong had been telling me was that Deng and Alistar wanted me out of the way before I discovered what was happening and did something to upset their plans. He'd already warned me once, and I probably hadn't taken him seriously enough the first time.

  Paula ... Central Four?

  Yes?

  Is there a dossier of some sort on Eric Tang Wong?

  That information is restricted.

  Does it say whether he is considered a Sinoplex agent? It couldn't hurt to ask.

  There was a long silence.

  Your letter of resignation from the Corps was rather strong.

  What did that have to do with anything? How did she know? She was an intelligent system, but most AIs were compartmentalized, and had been for decades. I didn't offer anything, either verbally or through the implant link.

  A nation should stand for ideals and ethics beyond mere commercial freedom, and its leaders should not commit young men and women to battles designed not to expand freedom or the rule of law, but merely for multilateral comparative commercial advantage. This has not been the case, not in my career and experience ...'

  Those had been my words, every last one of them.

  Rather strong words, Jonat.

  I felt strongly.

  And now? Central Four's "tone" held more than mere inquiry.

  I was naive. I thought that leaders had some ideals. I never thought they were pure, but that, in the crunch, some had beliefs beyond more credits and more personal power.

  Which kind of leader do you want to be? The kind you expected? Or the kind you found?

  I'm not a leader. I'm not in the Corps. I don't run anything.

  Leaders don't have to run anything, do they?

  I suppose not.

  Will you follow your ideals? Or your credit balance?

  That was a simple answer. Following my credit balance was only going to get me killed. Ideals offered some slim hope. I don't have any choice now. It has to be my ideals.

  Eric Tang Wong is believed to be a Sinese agent. ISS has been trying to tap his links, but appears to have been unsuccessful.

  Wong warned me.

  He did. His words were veiled, but clear. You left the link open.

  That brought me up short. What else had Central Four heard? What have you overheard that I should pay more attention to?

  Nothing overheard that you have not already discerned as important. There is more unrest on Mars, and the SPD of ISS will be supplying wideband neuralwhips to CorPak.

  Those are illegal, I protested. Can't Central Four or the Safety Office do something? I could understand why the CorPak safos might want them. They certainly couldn't use high energy slug-throwers in a domed and pressurized city, not without risking dome damage and depressurization. They could always claim that they'd used standard neuralwhips, and that anyone who died had just been one of the unfortunates who reacted badly, and besides, they had been rioting or disorderly ... or whatever.

  The weapons are not illegal off-Earth under the MultiCor Charter, and they will not be assembled until the supply vessels are en route to Mars.

  This is Deng's doing? Of course, it was his doing. He was the head of ISS. How does that offer us an opportunity?

  Physical evidence is always most useful. It weighs more heavily in determinations involving data covered by the Privacy Laws. It outweighs system records.

  How exactly am I supposed to obtain such ev
idence?

  There may be an unregistered cydroid medical center located in the SPD Mountain Division. There is enough evidence that Central Four is allowed to investigate the possibility of such crimes.

  That's legal?

  Under the imminent endangerment provisions of the Public Safety Amendments of 2134, when the Safety Office has reason to believe that public safety is being endangered, either overt or covert investigations of private property are permitted, provided force is not utilized, except in self-defense.

  I hadn't heard about that set of laws. Who came up with those?

  Senator Crosslin authored the legislation. It provides the Safety Office with the ability to conduct covert surveillance of the manufacture of illegal substances, but the provisions apply to all activities that would be illegal if discovered.

  Are there really illegal cydroids at SPD?

  The probability is great enough to allow covert investigation, and it might be best if you accompanied a Central Four observer.

  Won't that be a problem?

  No. Observers who are not safos but who have pertinent expertise or experience are allowed, provided they execute a waiver. There is no reason for you not to agree to the waiver.

  Probably not, considering that unless I found a way to stop the PST group and Vorhees, I'd probably be dead—and sooner rather than later. When does this "observation" take place?

  Thursday night at seven o'clock.

  That meant I'd have to deal with child care on Thursday, another thing I hadn't had to worry about. Who will I be going with?

  Paula.

  Is she ... you...?

  She is necessary. She will be somewhat bruised, but able to function. You will meet her at your own house. The location is not far from there.

  We're going into the ISS operational complex?

  You will only be along as an observer.

  That was an interesting choice of words. What's my expertise?

  You are a former commando who knows weapons. You are not currently in service. Therefore, you are more impartial. ISS can only claim you are not impartial by revealing that it is breaking the law.

  You have a nasty turn of mind.

  Thank you.

  At that point, the neighbor's Jacara appeared in the rotunda, returning Alan, who required my presence. We played cribbage.

  Lynia Palmero returned my earlier link at three in the afternoon, luckily while Charis and Alan were eating a snack.

  "For someone who was reputed close to death," she began, "you don't look bad."

  "You should have seen me a month ago." I laughed.

  "That's not your office. It looks fancier."

  "It's my late brother-in-law's. He and my sister were killed right after someone tried the same thing on me."

  "Oh ... I'm sorry, Jonat. I forgot ... I didn't..."

  "That's all right. You didn't know. How are things going for you?"

  "Not all that well, I'll have to say, if not nearly so badly as what you've been through. Sanson let everyone know that my work was not known for its cooperative nature. So I've got a half-time position with Klemsal. The people are good, and there might be some possibilities in a few months." She shrugged. "I'm probably better off here than with RezLine."

  "I discovered that Alvan is now with Vorhees and Reyes. I didn't wait to talk to him."

  "I can't imagine why. That's where he belongs. He gives snakes and vipers bad names."

  "Was he on Vorhees's payroll from the beginning?"

  "I don't know that, but I wouldn't be surprised." She paused. "Did you ever get that half-contract payment?"

  "Not yet."

  "They'll probably take ninety days, and then claim that they waited to make sure you were able to receive it."

  "Was there ever anything in writing that made you suspect that Vorhees was paying off Sanson and Andrus...?"

  "Nothing in writing. Who needed anything in writing? The way Sanson ignored your studies and even the marketing department?" Lynia's voice was cutting.

  "Did you ever meet Vorhees?"

  "No. I saw him a few times when he came in to see Sanson. He's a little man. He always had a big bodyguard. With what he's done, he needs one."

  "Did you know of anything besides what he did to you?"

  "You hear things," Lynia said. "He was always trying to expand. When Laurance Evans refused to sell ECC to him—it was a family firm—Evans's daughter drowned in a friend's pool while the friend was answering a link about a family emergency that was false, and his son died in a flitter crash. Sanson told me that Evans tried to get the district advocate to look into both incidents, but nothing ever happened."

  "He's even worse than I'd heard. I suppose that outside of business, he's the outstanding father and family man?"

  "He likes to play that role, and his wife likes belonging to the Club, but he's had a mistress for years. Washed-out former society girl, Maria Delorean. She was once a net actress, except that she couldn't act. Everyone knows about her, but no one ever says anything in public."

  "With Vorhees's reputation, I can see why."

  In the end, Lynia couldn't offer me anything more, except that Maria Delorean had been his mistress for years, and that he'd installed her in the renovated Larimer Square Towers.

  I'd put in a link to Miguel Elisar, but he hadn't returned it.

  My own research into the abnormally high number of deaths and accidents associated with people who crossed Abe Vorhees had convinced me that those deaths were anything but accidental, but, once again, there was really no way to prove anything. The only way to deal with Vorhees was for him to have an accident or an illness—just like those who'd crossed him. That would take some doing, especially since I didn't have a lot of time.

  I set Dierk's system to dig up certain kinds of pertinent information on Abe Vorhees, Jacques Alistar, and Tarn Lin Deng while I was monitoring the children and fixing dinner. I didn't have high hopes, but it was worth a try.

  Chapter 61

  In dealing with Charis and Alan, Tuesday was an improvement over Monday, and I got in several hours of actual work, but my search for information about Abe Vorhees turned up very little, except several public images. Vorhees was a small man, who looked more like a squirrel or a ferret than a snake, with slicked-back black hair and a round cheerful face and deep-set brown eyes.

  The information provided by Central Four remained the best—and only—real compilation on Vorhees: director general of Vorhees and Reyes; a legal degree from DSU, but he'd never practiced as an advocate; married to the same woman for thirty-one years; had his offices in the same old downtown Denv building for twenty. The firm had used the same logo, an intertwined "V" and "R," for twenty-five years. He drove an Altimus Grande, or was driven in one, and had always had one. In his own way, Vorhees was a creature of habit, and that offered some possibilities.

  Once I might have had some problems with what I was contemplating, but after Aliora's and Dierk's murders, at least three attempts on my life, four taps into my communications system, three snoops of my property, three illegal semi-clone/cydroids based on my own DNA, it was more than clear that the supposed governmental protections weren't up to handling economically endowed lawbreakers. Then, I wondered, had they ever been?

  It was also clear that the privacy laws that had been enacted to prevent one kind of abuse had spawned another, and I wasn't so certain that the latest abuses weren't worse. From what I could tell, I had two sets of problems. One was Abe Vorhees, and the other was the PST group, particularly Tarn Lin Deng and Jacques Alistar. Central Four—and Paula— were concerned about the PST group, doubtless because they were the greater threat to society. Vorhees might be the greater threat to me personally, however, and I needed to take steps to deal with that threat.

  I also had to keep making a living, and that would be exceedingly difficult if I had to keep worrying about staying alive.

  On Wednesday, the cleaning team, a couple with no-nonsense attitudes, arrive
d promptly at nine and set to work. With every day that went by, I understood why that trust fund set up by Aliora and Dierk was necessary. Even so, Wednesday was better, insofar as work went, and I did manage to get some more done on Bruce Fuller's Reilin project.

  On my private agendas, the only other thing that I could find out was the actual address of Maria Delorean, 805 in the Larimer Square Towers. That did allow me to go through the Denv building files and get the layout of the structure, including the utilities, stairways, and the general level of security. That required some creative approaches, but I managed those.

  I did discover that Jacques Alistar enjoyed the antique sport of racquetball and played regularly at the Club. I actually knew my way around there, although I didn't belong, and hadn't been there much since my parents' deaths.

  I also arranged for Elmer and Devon Bowes to take care of Charis and Alan on Thursday afternoon and night. They were at the top of the list of child-care personnel in Aliora's personal system. For what it would cost, they should have been. Devon seemed both pleasant and professional and Elmer was a licensed bodyguard, which was good for a number of reasons.

  Thursday was less productive, partly because Alan was clingy, and partly because Charis was miffed that her friend Freyda was out of town, doing something with her parents and the two girls couldn't even link. Part of their restlessness might also have come from my own. I was more than a little worried about whatever Central Four had in mind for "observation." At the same time, I didn't like the thought of full neural-killers going to Mars for CorPak use against civilians who basically wanted the freedom to get out from under the MultiCor oligopoly. MultiCor, or the PST group, could argue all they wanted that they deserved a return for their efforts in terraforming Mars, but the figures I'd seen showed a solid 30 percent per year return after the amortization of the initial investment and the ongoing greenhousing and water comet drops. Not many multis had managed that for fifty straight years. Of course, complete terraforming would require at least another fifty years, and there was no reason why MultiCor shouldn't get some preferences, but an absolute hold on the Martian market and government was too much.