Infoquake (28 page)

Natch was beginning to get the impression he was not here for a
business opportunity so much as an audition. He remembered all the
scenes he had set up throughout the years: his confrontations with
Brone, his challenges to Captain Bolbund, his ascent to the top of
Primo's. Margaret Surina had prepared a script, and she had a part for
him to play.

He once again shook off the stifling air, the slowly tightening constriction around his throat. "There's something you're not telling me,"
he said. "If you want to nullify the poison, go ahead and dump the
specs on the Data Sea right now and get it over with. Why bother with
the hassle of setting up a licensing agreement with a fiefcorp?"

The bodhisattva nodded pensively. "It's not that simple. This is a
complex project. If this program fails to capture the public's imagination, then the Council can just swoop in and take control without a
single protest. Besides, the Phoenix code is dangerous code, if it's not
handled properly. If we just floated the specs out onto the Data Sea,
who knows what could happen? I absolutely refuse to have blood on my
hands." Margaret held her hands in front of her face and stared at them
as if they were alien artifacts. "No, this situation has to be handled with the utmost precision. Which is why you're here, Natch.

"I need a licensee who can do two things. First, he needs to generate enough ripples on the Data Sea to make the Council stay its hand
until I unveil the technology. And then he needs to quickly develop a
workable prototype to show the world this technology is real."

"Wait a minute," cried Natch, slicing his hand through the air.
"You've spent sixteen years building this fucking thing, and you don't
even have a workable prototype?"

Margaret was unfazed. "I have many, but none I trust to act flawlessly in front of billions of people. The Council has forced my hand
too early."

"All right, fine. So when are you unveiling the Phoenix Project?"

"The end of next week, at the cultural festival honoring Sheldon
Surina's four hundredth birthday. Until then, all we need is a little bit
of uncertainty. You're an outsider, Natch, and outsiders bring complications. Loose ends. The more Borda fears I have let others in on the
Phoenix Project, the more he will hesitate to act."

Natch set his chin on his fist in consternation. He had learned
many years ago never to get locked into a situation without an elaborate and many-layered plan for escape. Then he thought of Margaret's
words: More money and more power than you can possibly imagine. What
were money and power? Mere words, vowels and consonants, scrapings
of tongue on tooth. But what they represented: open doors. A way out.
A way up.

"So why me?" he said at length.

"Because you are the best," replied Margaret without hesitation.
"Because you are young and hungry. Because you work quickly and
demand absolute perfection from your team. Because this enterprise
requires someone with a flair for ... showmanship." She waved her
hand and summoned a message in holographic letters on the table. "I
need the person who can accomplish this."

Natch scanned the letters and promptly switched his PokerFace program back on.

The Vault has detected a DNA-assisted decryption attack directed at your
account. Your holdings have not been compromised, but it is advised that
you periodically check the security of your Vault account. This advisory has
been automatically routed to the custodian of records for your L-PRACG
and, depending on your L-PRACG's policies, may also be forwarded to the
Defense and Wellness Council.

Natch could have recited the words from memory, but he pretended to
read them over two or three times. Obviously, blackmail was not her
objective, or Natch would have been greeted at the compound gates by
representatives of the Meme Cooperative. "It's a warning from the
Vault," he said simply.

The bodhisattva let it go, banishing the missive into the aether.
She seemed to be retreating into her shell. Again, Natch caught the
hollow look of fear in Margaret's eyes, and the intimate concern radiating from the Islander standing in the doorway.

"You need to understand something," said Natch abruptly.
"Investing in a new technology isn't cheap. I'll need to bring on new
employees, conduct research. Buy more equipment. Train my people,
find more channelers." He tallied up each item with his fingers while
he spoke. "All that takes money. Just because my fiefcorp made
number one on Primo's doesn't mean we're number one in sales. I don't
have that many credits lying around-especially if you expect me to
get involved in a new project that isn't going to bring in any money
for a long time."

Margaret sighed. "If you are suggesting Surina investment," she
said, "I can't funnel money to you through any of our regular channels-not quickly, at any rate. It's too risky, and we can't have anyone
suspect that I've put you up to this. For now, you must be a completely independent third party in these negotiations." The bodhisattva
glanced over her shoulder at the big man with the blonde ponytail
standing in the doorway, and suddenly Natch wondered if he was there
to keep others out or to keep Natch in. "There is an entirely different
dance I have to perform here with all the different Surina organizations. Let us just say that some here do not appreciate radical moves."

"So you expect me to hit the ground running with no money, and
put together a perfect prototype in a couple of weeks."

"Within a week, yes. But I'm not worried, Natch. If I had the
slightest doubt you could find the money to do this, you wouldn't be
here."

Natch shook his head and snorted in amusement. "I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish."

The descendant of Sheldon Surina leaned forward and touched her
lips to her clasped fingers. "Things were not supposed to turn out this
way," she said quietly. "You are the contingency plan."

Natch stood up, put his palms flat on the table, and leaned forward
with a smoldering stare. "Let's get one thing clear," he hissed. "I am
not your contingency plan. If I get involved in this, it'll be for my own
reasons. Because you claim I can make a lot of money, and I believe
you. If things get too dangerous-for me-or if I think the credits
aren't worth the risk-then I'll pull out of this whole thing without a
second thought and leave you stranded. I'll be a dead man before I get
involved in a scheme like this to save your hide from the Defense and
Wellness Council." He turned to face the burly Islander, as if to say,
That goes for you too.

Margaret had no reaction. She was beyond affectation right now. "I
will forward to you what little information I can at this point," she said
in a hoarse monotone.

The entrepreneur nodded and fired another quick glance at the
Islander. The big man was smiling openly now. Whatever test he and
Margaret had just administered, Natch had passed it with panache.

"Why don't you ask Horvil?" said Serr Vigal.

Natch shook his head. "He's got plenty of credits, but there's no
way he can move that kind of money without his Aunt Berilla finding
out about it. And she'd rather slice off her own arm than invest in me."

"Another fiefcorp, then. Pierre Loget. Or Lucas Sentinel."

"Sentinel?" spat the fiefcorp master, as if the name were a curse
word in a foreign tongue. "Are you kidding? He's still furious at Jara.
And don't forget that when I pushed the Patel Brothers down to the
number two spot on Primo's, Sentinel's company fell to number three.
Loget doesn't like me any better."

"What about that financier you met with all those years ago? He
said he liked you, didn't he?"

"Figaro Fi? He joined the Prepared a year and a half ago, Vigal.
He's probably dead by now."

Serr Vigal pursed his lips and made a noise of dismissal. Thppt. He
got slowly to his feet and ambled over to the window, which was
showing some beachside resort full of bronzed children laughing and
throwing sand at one another. A welcome change from the dreary
November Omaha rain. "I can help you a little bit, of course," said the
neural programmer. "The memecorp has some extra equipment lying
around that I can lend you. But I just don't have the kind of money
you're talking about."

"Which leaves me back where I started," said Natch with disgust.
"The capitalmen." He kicked at a tuft of carpet and scowled at the frolicking children through the window. No self-respecting capitalman
would lend him such a large sum of money for a project he couldn't
even define. They wouldn't care that he ran the number two company
on Primo's, or that he was working on Margaret Surina's fabled Phoenix Project-they would just ask to see the specs. Natch couldn't
blame them. Margaret had no track record to boast of, no prior business successes to point to. All she had was the Surina family reputation. And that reputation hadn't helped anyone recoup their losses
from TeleCo, had it?

"This is my worst nightmare, Vigal," Natch moaned. He waved his
hand at the screen and changed the display right under Serr Vigal's
nose. His guardian blinked in mild surprise as the beach made way for
the trading pit of some Melbourne financial exchange. "The biggest
opportunity of my life, and I can't make it happen. Nobody will invest
until Margaret unveils the technology at the end of next week. But
then it'll be too late. I won't have the resources to get this prototype
up and running in time."

Serr Vigal rubbed his goatee quietly for a few minutes, deep in
thought. "I wonder what this Phoenix Project really is."

"Margaret said she started out with memory enhancers. You know
neural programming, Vigal-where could she go from there?"

"In sixteen years? Just about anywhere."

"Well, it has to be a neurological program, doesn't it? She must
have looked at my background-she must know I apprenticed with
you. She must know the bulk of our catalog is devoted to optics and
mental processes. DeMirage 54, EyeMorph 66a, Mento Calc-U-Later
93.9, NiteFocus 50c-I could go on and on. Why else would she come
to me?"

"Why indeed?" said Vigal. "There are hundreds of fiefcorps and
memecorps out there capable of handling a project like this. And most
of them have more experience in this business than you, not to mention greater resources."

"She said she wanted someone with a flair for showmanship."

"And do you believe her?"

"Stop being so-so elliptical. If you think something's going on
here, then just come right out and say it."

Vigal leaned against the viewscreen, screwing up his face with
courage. "I don't think anything," he muttered. "I simply fear."

"And what do you fear?"

"I fear that Margaret has picked you for this enterprise because she
thinks she can manipulate you." The neural programmer took a long,
sad look at the traders tussling with one another on the Melbourne
exchange floor. Undoubtedly, most of them were only multi projections, but that did not make the scene any less violent or chaotic to
behold.

Natch felt the old alienation swooping down on him and constricting his lungs. He snarled angrily, poking a virtual finger into his
guardian's chest. "And so what if she thinks she can manipulate me?
That doesn't change anything. I've still got to find a way to get into
the Phoenix Project, or I'll never get out of this ... this horse race on
Primo's."

"And do you know that this Phoenix Project of Margaret's is a
panacea for your problems? I worry that you're throwing everything
aside for some vague business venture when you don't even know what
it is."

"No. The Phoenix Project is it. This is the answer. This is what I've
been searching for. I know it, I can feel it with every cell in my body.
You don't think I can just ignore an opportunity like this, do you?"

Vigal smiled wanly. "That is a decision only you can make, Natch."

Merri looked as if she had been in her foyer for hours awaiting Natch's
arrival. He frowned briefly. There were few things Natch detested
more than someone who was too eager to please. A good employee says no
more often than yes, the great Lucco Primo once claimed.