This Alien Shore (35 page)

“I think you'll find it quite convincing.”

“What about the code itself? Who would have access to it?”

“It's a segment of outpilot programming. Your own staff would have access, of course, and the Prima herself. Some guildmasters might. Outpilots certainly would. Others might on an individual basis, if their security clearance was high enough, but there's no other group who would have such access as a matter of course.”

“Then we not only have a traitor among us,” Gaza said quietly, “but probably one of rank.”

Masada said nothing. It was not his way to confirm the obvious.

“Who would do this to his own people? This thing is killing outpilots—”

“That was a later development, Director. Or so you tell me. Lucifer's designer might not have anticipated that it would evolve into such a deadly invader.”

Gaza's eyes met his. The man's gaze was hot, very hot, fired by a turmoil of emotions Masada couldn't begin to interpret.

“No,” he said. The anger in his voice was unmistakable. “He knew. Any man intelligent enough to design this thing knew damned well what it might turn into. He just didn't care. Somebody paid him enough money that he just didn't care. ”

Suddenly, without warning, he struck out at one of the walls in fury. The blow was hard; the faceplate of a nearby console was jarred loose a fragment of an inch, and the blow echoed audibly in the sleek-surfaced chamber.

“When I find the one responsible for this,” Gaza swore, “I will tear him apart with my own hands. He will suffer more than any man has ever suffered, for betraying the Guild, and for betraying me. And as for whatever agency corrupted him ... I will see to it that they never see the inside of an ainniq again. Let them rot on their fucking homeworld, whatever the hell that is, without the Guild to rescue them. Let their ruined and deserted stations be a warning to anyone else who thinks he can take on the children of Hausman and get away with it.”

“I don't think this is a Hausman issue—” Masada began.

The look on Gaza's face cut him short. For a moment it seemed like the outburst of fury might be turned against him, then the Director's face relaxed ever so slightly, his rigid shoulders eased, and the angry flush in his cheeks began to fade.

“I'm sorry,” Gaza said. “But you understand—security in this area is my domain. This incident ... it's like spending your whole life building and fortifying a citadel for war, only to find out that some bastard on the inside has thrown open the gates and invited the enemy in.” He drew in a deep breath. “We have to find out who did this. That's all. We have to find out who is responsible and see to it that his fate serves as a warning to all. The Guild is not to be trifled with.”

“All I can do is analyze the code,” Masada said evenly. “Others will have to deal with questions of motivation.”

“Of course, Dr. Masada. Of course.” While speaking, Gaza noticed the jarred faceplate. It was barely a millimeter out of alignment, but even that much clearly disturbed him. With steady hands and the deadly serious expression of a neurosurgeon he reached out and eased it back into its proper position. Perfectly even, perfectly parallel to every other horizontal surface in the room. Not until it was solidly fixed in place did he release it, and even then he checked to see that the friction of his withdrawing hands didn't jar it loose again. Apparently not. “Again, I apologize. Much as you were undoubtedly frustrated by being cut off from current news while in transit, we here at Tiananmen have been waiting over a year to have the benefit of your counsel. Tell me what you need for your work and you'll have it. Equipment, funds, personnel, whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Director.”

“As for the rest of us ...” He shut his eyes for a moment. “All we have to do is figure out who in the Guild hierarchy would turn on his own people, and why. No small task, my friend.” He looked about the room, at the wealth of machinery and programming committed to the effort. “We will find him,” he swore.

It wasn't the kind of statement you questioned.

T
HE BOARDROOM was dark.

A single holo glowed in its center, a blue-and-brown globe of Earth with all its clouds removed. Stations and habitats and a thousand tiny pods orbited about it like a cloud of tiny asteroids, each with its own pinpoint of reflected light. The display was small and not very bright, and it did little to illuminate the room. Nevertheless, Miklas Tridac had the distinct impression of a figure sitting somewhere behind it, a shadow among the shadows.

He cleared his throat, more to see if there would be any response than because he had to. There wasn't.

At last he dared, “You wanted to see me?”

The display clicked off. The projector nodes withdrew into the conference table, leaving its surface flat once more. A dim light came up—very dim—that allowed him to make out the form of a woman at the end of the table. Her features were in shadow.

“Tell me about the girl,” she said.

He took a step forward, to where the end of the long table stopped him from going any farther. There was a chair there, turned out to receive him. He chose not to sit in it.

“We've lost her.”

If there was anger in her, it wasn't visible. But of course not, he thought. You don't rise to the vice presidency of a Terran corporation by giving out emotional data for free.

“Give me details,” she said quietly.

“She was on the metroliner as Jamisia Capra. We've got her records going through Immigration under that name. We lost her after that.”

“I sent out enough people to cover Immigration.”

“The Guild took her out of line. They processed her privately, and got her into the ring before we knew what had happened.”

He could sense the anger rising in her. At him, at the Guild, or at the girl? “We should have had the whole ring covered, then.” He started to answer, but she waved him to silence with a short and angry gesture. “Twenty-twenty hindsight. Immigration was a guaranteed bottleneck, we counted on it.” He heard her draw in a deep breath as she considered the ramifications of what he had said. “So,” she said at last. Her voice was like ice. “The Guild knows.”

“How much, do you think?”

“They know she's important. That's all that matters. They know they need to have control of her.”

“They let her go free.”

He could sense her eyes on him: cold, uncompromising. Unforgiving. “So it would seem” she agreed. “Perhaps to see where she would go. Perhaps they're not sure just what exactly she is, and hope that she'll reveal herself.”

“Do we know what she is?” he asked.

There was a long, long silence after that. The invisible eyes were fixed on him, and he could feel their scrutiny like a cold caress along his skin. You didn't ask for information from the Corporation, not if you valued your job. Then again, he was one of the few she trusted.

“We know,” she said slowly, “that she is an experiment. We know that if the experiment proves successful, it will put the Guild out of business. And we risked a lot to get hold of her, for that reason.” There was a long pause after that. Was it true that the Corporation's masters could access the wellseekers of their underlings? He felt himself being dissected mentally, and wondered just how much data she had on him. “That's enough for you to know, I think. Any more would be ... dangerous for you.”

“I thank you for your trust.”

“It isn't a question of trust. We have to find the girl. You're in charge of that effort. You need to understand what the stakes are here, and just how far we're willing to go to accomplish our goal.”

She stood, then, and for a brief moment the light in the room played over her features as she moved. Eyes and lips carved out of ice, an imperious nose, blonde hair slicked back tightly against her scalp. The corporate logo was bright on her lapel, three interlocking triangles in gold with a star at their center. The Star of Earth.

“You will find her,” she said. “Period. I don't care what you have to spend, I don't care whom you have to hire. Do it.”

“But—”

“She is somewhere.
She will use the outernet, she will access her money, she will walk and talk and breathe the recycled air—and every minute she does so, she will leave her mark on some data system. Find her. If you can think of no better way, then go through every security tape in the outworlds with a face recognition program. Hire some moddies to put sniffers on the outernet, I'm told they can find anything once they put their minds to it. Pay them whatever it requires. Just don't give them information.
Nothing.
You understand me?”

“I understand.”

“Expect the Guild to be making a similar effort. Watch them closely, for they may have access to data that we don't. I'm tapping into every data line I can, and if I hear of anything relevant, I'll forward it to you.” She paused. “In the meantime, remember this.
We need this girl.
We need her alive and we need her undamaged, so that we can study what Shido did and benefit from it. She does us no good dead ... and she probably knows that. But as for the Guild—I doubt they've heard anything more than rumors of what Shido was doing. Right now they would like to get hold of her and see how accurate those rumors are ... but if that becomes too much of a luxury, if the choice comes down to letting her go free or removing her from the picture ... she is no threat to them if she's dead. And if she leads them on a long enough chase, if it looks as if she might really manage to escape them for good, then it's only a matter of time before they decide to end this little game, while the odds are still in their favor. A dead experiment benefits no one, and they are the default victors in this scenario.”

“I understand.”

“Make sure you do.” She leaned forward over the table; gloved hands splayed out to rest on its polished surface, displaying the corporate logo on their cuffs. “Make sure you grasp that this may prove our most important campaign since the end of Isolation. If there's a chance—even the remotest chance—that this girl can help break the Guild monopoly, then we have to control her. Period. Failure isn't an option.”

“I understand.”

She leaned back again, drawing herself up to her full height. At nearly six feet, she was an impressive figure. “Do what you must. I expect a better report next time.”

“Of course.” He bowed slightly and began to back up, but a raised hand from her signaled him that the interview was not yet over.

“There are legal parameters to such a search,” she said quietly. “If you act outside those ...” The sentence went unfinished, but the words were clear enough even so.

He cleared his throat; this time it was for real. “The Corporation, of course, would not support me in such a case.”

“Of course not,” she said quietly. “I'm glad you understand.” They were speaking for the record now, and both of them knew it. He wondered how many separate recorders were taking every word down for posterity. To be disassociated from their previous words, of course. “We all must obey the strictures that the Guild has set, you see. For as long as their monopoly holds, they are the ultimate authority in outspace. Do nothing that would ... displease them.”

He felt a faint thrill then, the first one he had allowed himself in all his time on this project. If the Guild monopoly were broken at last, so that they no longer had the power to impose their will on all the citizens of outspace—good God, what a revolution that would be! And with his corporation at the head of it....

“Thank you for your time, Miklas.” Her head inclined slightly, a cold but regal gesture. “Keep me informed of your progress.”

“Of course.”

He bowed and took his leave. He'd need new plans, and maybe new equipment. The search would clearly not end just because the girl was lost; it would not end until she was m the Corporation's hands, or dead. And if he could be the one to deliver her to the company ... then next time it might be him at the other end of that table. Miklas Tridac, giving orders to
his
subordinates.