The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (71 page)

“I have
been haunting my lair in the bowels of UMCPHQ far too long. I forget the more
mundane details of travel.”

Koina’s
mouth had taken a more serious line. For a moment she considered Hashi gravely.
Her tone was neutral, neither encouraging nor impatient, as she said, “I’m
waiting, Hashi.”

“Do not
be concerned,” he replied like a jocund gnome. “Your shuttle will surely depart
at its appointed time.”

As if
on cue, the guard answered a signal by tapping on the hatch keypad; and at once
the heavy door slid into its frame. With an audible thunk, the seals locked.
The guard ran a quick safety check, then belted himself into his own g-seat.

A
rumble of engine noise began to carry through the hull. It was too soon for the
shuttle’s drive. Some of the muffled roar came from the dock’s passive launch
projector — colloquially called “the pult” — which would slingshot the craft
out into the dark. The rest was the throaty growl of the huge motors that
opened the space doors of the dock.

Against
that background, the intercom crackled. “Launch in thirty seconds. Brace for
two g acceleration.”

Two?
Hashi thought. My, my. There was no theoretical reason why the pult couldn’t
waft the craft outward so gently that the pressure would be impalpable. Koina
Hannish was in a hurry.

Just
for a moment he wondered whether he was healthy enough to withstand being
slammed backward by a force equal to twice his own weight. Then he grinned. Too
late to worry about that: far too late. As if he were dependent on them, he
removed his glasses and cradled them in his fingers so that they wouldn’t be
ripped from his face.

Koina
tightened her grip on her hardcopies when the throw of the pult hit. Other than
that she showed no sign of discomfort.

Then it
was over: the shuttle coasted free of UMCPHQ. Weightlessness took hold of Hashi’s
stomach, floating it against the back of his throat — a queasy sensation which
would pass when the shuttle began to feel the tug of Earth’s gravity well. He
discovered that he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly. A mental
damage inspection informed him that his systems appeared to be functioning as
well as could be expected.

Settling
his glasses back on the end of his nose, he returned his attention to the PR
director.

She
regarded him as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted. “I’m waiting,”
she explained evenly, “for you to tell me why you’re here.”

Hashi
nodded his approval. The impenetrability of her mask pleased him. She was
growing into her duties. In only a few days, her self-possession had become
stronger. She was clearer, better focused. At this rate she would soon be worth
a dozen Godsen Friks.

“Well,
then,” he announced, “I will tell you. It is true” — ubiquitous word — “that I
do bear with me a small fact or two which I wish to submit for your
consideration. However, I am primarily ‘here’” — he indicated his g-seat — “rather
than ensconced elsewhere in the hope that you will
brief
me.”

Koina
cocked a noncommittal eyebrow, but didn’t reply.

“You
see,” he went on, “it is my intention to attend this unique as well as
extraordinary session of our much-to-be-respected Governing Council for Earth
and Space. It is conceivable that the esteemed Members will wish to question
me.” This was the smallest of Hashi’s reasons for making the journey; but he
didn’t feel constrained to mention the others. It was common knowledge that
Special Counsel Maxim Igensard had issued a standing and unconditional demand
for the right to question Hashi Lebwohl further. “Naturally my responses will
be more accurate — or perhaps I should say, more accurately tailored to UMCP
policy — if they are intelligibly prepared. And I am certain, my dear Koina,
that you will be able to prepare me intelligibly.” After a barely perceptible
pause, he added, “If you so choose.”

Did
Koina’s forehead suggest a frown? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t have Warden Dios’
special sight; couldn’t read the play of tension in the muscles under her skin.
Nevertheless there was no mistaking the tension in her next question.

“Does
the director know you’re doing this?”

The
underlying issues were plain. Does he approve? she wanted to know. Did he send
you?

“Alas,
no,” Hashi answered. His equanimity was untroubled. “For some time now he has
been too busy to speak with me.

“That
is to say,” he amended, “I assume he has been too busy. It is unquestionable
that his offices continue to perform their functions in their ordinary fashion.
But does this necessarily imply that Warden Dios is busy? Perhaps not. I can
only say with certainty that he has declined to speak with me.”

All
factual, as far as it went. Hashi had no intention of giving the PR director
any cause to complain on that score.

“But
you’re going anyway?” she pursued.

“My
dear Koina” — if his smile had been wired to a rheostat, he would have dialled
it higher — “I did not rise to my present elevated position through reluctance
to display initiative or accept responsibility.”

She
nodded slowly. No doubt she was aware of how inaccessible Warden had become
recently. Since his most recent visit to Holt Fasner’s Home Office, he’d been
virtually incommunicado, dealing with DA, PR, and even ED almost entirely
through subordinates. Hashi had the odd impression that Warden was hiding,
keeping his anxieties private while he waited for some revelation or
development which would clarify his dark game with — or against — the Dragon.

That
impression reinforced Hashi’s chagrin at the knowledge that his contract with
Free
Lunch
had damaged Warden: chagrin both that he’d inadvertently done his
director a disservice which he couldn’t undo, and that he’d failed to grasp the
complexity of Warden’s game. By his own lights he’d always supported his
director honourably. But Warden wanted Morn Hyland alive — even though Hashi
had raised the possibility that she might be a kaze of more than one kind.

Hashi
wasn’t accustomed to thinking that any man’s mind could see deeper or reach
farther than his own. The idea disturbed him profoundly. He felt a gnawing need
to prove in some way that he was equal to Warden’s intentions.

That
was the real reason he was here.

Koina
knew nothing of his personal concerns, however. “Still,” she mused, “I’m not
sure it would be appropriate for me to brief you further.” That “further” was
unnecessary — a subtle reference to the way she’d shared facts and secrets with
him in the past. “If the director wanted you to attend this session, he would
have briefed you himself.”

Hashi
fluttered his hands airily, as if her scruples cost him nothing. “My dear
Koina, I trust your judgement explicitly. As evidence of my good faith, I will
tell you my new little facts without what our so-lamented Godsen would have
called ‘strings attached’, and you will decide freely whether to answer my
questions in return.”

She
didn’t insult him by saying, And you don’t mind being overheard? By now she
must have known him well enough to understand that he hadn’t chosen this venue
carelessly — although she might not have been able to guess why he now wanted
to keep his dealings with her in some sense “public.” Instead she murmured, “Fair
enough,” and waited for him to go on.

“Are
you acquainted with Lane Harbinger?” he asked.

Koina
shook her head. “I know the name. She’s Malcolm Harbinger’s granddaughter. But
we haven’t met.”

“A
shame,” he remarked speciously. “You have much in common.” But then he
cautioned himself to restrain his sense of humour. Nervous, driven Lane was the
PR director’s near opposite — and he’d decided on a policy of factual accuracy.
“However, that is of no moment. More to the point are her recent labours. In
the name of Data Acquisition, she has been conducting a study of the physical
evidence which we have obtained from the site of Godsen’s murder.”

He sensed
movement behind him. At the edge of his vision, he glimpsed Forrest Ing
shifting to a closer g-seat in order to hear better. ED Security — bless Min
Donner and all her blunt, diligent minions — hadn’t found any physical evidence
for themselves.

“A careful
scrutiny,” he continued without pausing, “of your former superior’s former
office uncovered a minute fragment of the kaze’s id tag. More specifically, a
minute fragment of the tag’s SOD-CMOS chip.” Are you able to eavesdrop
adequately, Deputy Chief Ing? These details are contained in reports which DA
Processing has already delivered to Enforcement Division. “Since then, it has
been Lane’s task to extract the data which surely remains intact in that
portion of the chip.

“Are
you interested in technical considerations?” he asked Koina solicitously. When
she shook her head again, he promised, “Then I will be concise.

“Putting
the matter simply, a CMOS chip changes state — or, in the case of a SOD-CMOS
chip, adds state — when an appropriate signal is applied to its source and
drain. In essence, the data is read back from the chip by reversing the
process. Sadly a fragment as
little
” — he pinched the ends of his
fingers together to suggest tinyness — “as this lacks such conveniences as its
own source and drain. Deprived of all ordinary methods for reading the chip,
Lane has been compelled to improvise.

“In the
past few hours, my dear Koina, she has transcended herself. So that you will
not be inundated by technical considerations, I will merely explain that she
has devised means to bond our fragment to another, more accessible chip. By
that contrivance she has been able to obtain the chip’s contents.”

Koina
cocked a delicate eyebrow to show her interest, but didn’t interrupt. At his
back, Hashi felt Forrest Ing’s presence lean closer.

Smiling,
he settled into his lecturer’s mode.

“As you
might surmise, those contents are as fragmentary as the chip itself. They are,
however, provocative — one might almost say, extremely so.

“You
are doubtless aware that we — the United Mining Companies Police — are
humankind’s only authorised supplier of SOD-CMOS chips. In addition, the UMCP
and the Governing Council are humankind’s only authorised consumers of such
chips. All other use flows from one fount or the other. However, the actual
manufacturer is a corporate entity curiously named Anodyne Systems. You may
also be aware that Anodyne Systems is a wholly owned subsidiary of the United
Mining Companies.”

Therefore
Anodyne Systems was in some sense open to Holt Fasner, even though the UMCP
provided all working personnel and security.

“As I
have suggested,” he went on, “our honourable Council has no direct dealings
with Anodyne Systems. The Council’s SOD-CMOS chips come from us. For that
reason our investigation has until now excluded the busy denizens of the GCES
complex. Each chip delivered to them can be accounted for. Instead our
operational assumption has been that a stolen chip could only have been
obtained directly from Anodyne Systems — and that only our personnel or the
Dragon’s could have effected the theft.

“Lane’s
research has thrown that assumption into confusion. From her fragment she has
extracted two — one might call them legible — code-strings. Neither is even
remotely complete, yet both are complete enough to be traced.

“SAC
programs have determined incontrovertibly that both are small portions of
source-code.”

He
paused to study the PR director’s mask of calm interest. Captain Vertigus had
given her reason to think she might be in danger. Doubtless that explained
Forrest Ing’s presence aboard the shuttle: the deputy chief had been assigned
personal responsibility for Director Hannish’ safety. Nevertheless the
particular beauty of her features kept her emotions private.

“Are
you familiar with the term?” Hashi asked her; but he didn’t wait for a reply. “Security
such as ours and the Council’s relies on continuously shifting patterns of
passcodes and verifications to establish authorisation. But because they shift
continuously, these patterns must be generated continuously within each id tag
and credential according to parameters and restrictions determined by their
designers. This function is performed by a code ‘engine’. In essence, the
engine ‘drives’ the modulation of passcodes and verifications.

“The
term ‘source-code’ refers to the specific language — the grammar and
vocabulary, if you will — in which the engine is written.

“Clearly”
— he spread his hands to indicate that he was being entirely candid — “the
engine represents a more profound secret than the coding it generates. In
addition — being itself constant — it is also more identifiable.”

While
Koina waited, he settled his shoulder blades deeper into his g-seat. Then he
came to the point.

“Of the
two portions of source-code which Lane has identified, one belongs to the code
engine currently in use by Anodyne Systems.” He grimaced like a shrug. “So much
was to be expected. The chip would not have passed testing without being coded
for clearance.

“But
the other —” Hashi rolled his eyes in mock dismay. “Ah, my dear Koina, it is
the other which sows consternation among our investigative assumptions.