Infoquake (4 page)

As the morning wore on, Natch stubbornly resisted all objections to
his plan, though Horvil and Jara tried their best.

"This all sounds so nebulous," protested Jara. "Who's going to
believe we know anything about terrorist attacks? We're not spieswe're businesspeople."

"We've got good connections. People will believe them. Besides, we
don't need to come up with any specific information-a rumor of a
rumor, that's all."

"What if it doesn't work?"

Natch shrugged. "If it doesn't work, then what's the harm done?"

"The Council will deny the rumor," interjected Horvil.

"And knowing the Council, they'll deny it so forcefully that people
will remain suspicious. Nobody ever accused High Executive Borda of
being subtle."

I could say the same thing about you, Natch, Jara thought to herself. I
don't understand this at all," she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "If we have four programs ready to launch on the Data Sea,
why don't we just launch them now? Why do we need Pharisees?"

Natch shook his head. "First off, the programs aren't good enough
yet," he replied. "We need at least another day to polish them up. And
second, the Patel Brothers have been watching our every move for
weeks now. They know we're eyeing their number one spot on Primo's.
Unless we catch the Patels unaware for a few hours, they'll immediately fire off a barrage of their own upgrades so they can stay on top.
But if we have enough of a cushion, we just might be able to grab
number one for a few hours."

"What if someone catches us spreading rumors?"

"Like who?"

He's right, the fiefcorp analyst reflected bitterly. Truth on the Data
Sea was like the light from an ancient kaleidoscope: tinted and scattered and refracted on all sides. Especially in the bio/logics trade,
where everyone was an interested party. Fiefcorps and memecorps
spread rumors about their competitors all the time. So did the capitalmen who funded them and the channelers who pushed their wares.
Jara remembered the recent case of a woman who planted rumors of
incompetence about her own son to drive him out of business. Or the
case of the fiefcorper who cornered the market on gastrointestinal programming by sabotaging his competitors' sales demos. No charges had
been filed in either case.

And who stood in Natch's way? The Meme Cooperative-a fumbling bureaucracy.

Jara thought back to those interminable childhood lectures from
the hive. So if the Meme Cooperative is so incompetent, she had once complained, who's looking out for the little guy? Who's keeping things fair?

Nobody, her proctor had replied ruefully.

Nobody? Jara had screamed in youthful outrage.

Oh, I could tell you what the headmaster wants me to tell you, the proctor
had replied. All that bullshit in the official hive curriculum. "The fluidity of
information on the Data Sea ferrets out weak struts in the economy." "The independent writers, pundits and watchdogs known as the drudges are very effective
at rooting out corruption. " "We rely on the Local Political Representative Associations of Civic Groups-the L-PRACGs, our governments-to keep the free
market in check." But you read the news, Jara. Do any of those statements
sound like the truth to you?

They had not. But those discussions had all taken place half a lifetime ago, back when a career as a Meme Cooperative bureaucrat or an
L-PRACG policy maker had seemed like an attractive option. Fiefcorps were a place to build up a nest egg until something real came along. How quickly everything changed after the hive! All it had taken
for her to sell out her governmentalist ideals, Jara thought with bitterness, was the flattery of rich, handsome, intelligent men like Natch.

Jara rubbed her eyes and came back to the present moment, but
she could not dislodge Natch's obfuscating lenses. The plan might work
because it's so ridiculous, thought Jara. Who would suspect the industry has
sunk so low that one of its finest is willing to sow panic in the streets with Pharisee terrorism rumors? Who would suspect Natch has anything to gain by it?

And if someone did find out-if the Council or the Cooperative or
the drudges or the Patel Brothers caught wind of the true source of
these rumors-Primo's would probably still crown them number one.
An independent valuation system couldn't afford to be swayed by the
vagaries of law or politics.

Natch stopped pacing, making Jara uneasy. "I only see two potential problems," he said. "One, the rumors might not generate enough
flak in the marketplace to faze the Patels. They might still launch
NightHawk on schedule. Two, Primo's might find some undiscovered
flaw in one of our programs and penalize us for it."

"What about the other fiefcorps?" asked Jara.

"Who? Lucas Sentinel? PulCorp? Prosteev Serly?" Natch gave a
dismissive flip of the hand. "I've already checked their launch schedules. Nothing."

Horvil frowned. He had been silent for some time now, listening
to Natch's maddening logic and making quiet calculations of his own.
Jara wondered if he had enough functioning brain cells this early in the
morning to fully comprehend the magnitude of Natch's scheme.
"There's one more problem," said the engineer.

"Which is?"

"What if these rumors spook more than just the Patel Brothers?
The Pharisees have killed people with these terrorist attacks before.
What if we spark too much panic? I mean, we're all connected"-the
engineer waved his hands around in the air as if he could scoop up mol ecule-thick multi bots and subaether transmissions with his fingers"and so we're all vulnerable. There could be another black code attack
any day now. Everyone knows that. The Council might really be
gearing up for another assault. What if we cause too much panic?
There might be a rush on the Vault. People might stop trading. The
whole financial system could collapse."

Natch grinned as if he relished the possibility. "Small chance," he
said. Was that a note of disappointment in his voice? "Come on,
Horvil! A few rumors shut down the financial system? People aren't
that gullible. Besides, the Council will quash the rumors long before
that happens."

"And what-what if the Pharisees do actually launch an attack that
day?"

"Horv," laughed the fiefcorp master, "I'm not responsible for what
those lunatics do. The only one I'm responsible for is me. Let them do
their worst. No matter what happens, the markets will still be there on
November 2nd. Trust me."

Jara stared gloomily at the three-dimensional flowchart she had constructed on the coffee table. The flowchart towered mightily over her
head, information layered on top of information like a ziggurat. She sat
back and surveyed her handiwork. The names of people Jara had
known all her life were lined up on a tier of data labeled GULLIBLE.
Other names-friends, relatives, old lovers and companions-were
skewered on holographic arrows labeled HARD SELL and SOFT SELL.
Her own mother's name stood on an out-of-the-way parapet with the
caption UNTRUSTWORTHY.

This is what you've always wanted to do, isn't it? Jara told herself.
Strategic analysis for a biollogic fie/corp. Managing timetables, scheduling
product launches, assigning resources ... right?

Monday was nearly over, and she still hadn't gotten any sleep. Jara
suddenly realized she had been staring at the flowchart without
moving for at least an hour. Any minute, she expected the ziggurat to
come crashing down on her in a virtual avalanche of data. And then she
would die here, buried under the weight of Natch's lies.

If you don't want to be here, Horvil had told her, go home. She thought
about the engineer, sweating inside a MindSpace bubble at the other
end of London. The fact that Horvil was also foregoing sleep was small
consolation to her.

Shortly after sundown, Jara felt the mental ping of an incoming
multi request. Natch.

The fiefcorp master emerged from nothingness, gave her a cheerful
wave in greeting, and began scrutinizing the flowchart. Jara hadn't
seen him since this morning's meeting in Shenandoah, and his transformation was truly eerie. Gone was Natch the petulant schoolboy,
seemingly shut off with the touch of a button. In his place stood Natch the slick entrepreneur, Natch the salesman, Natch the emblem of positive thinking.

"So you think we'll achieve maximum penetration if we start
spreading the rumors tonight," he said with one hand pensively rubbing a chin that may have never known stubble.

Jara nodded wearily. "I've categorized all our acquaintances on
three axes: credibility, connections, and sphere of influence. Then I've
traced the likely flow of rumor from person to person, and plotted out
the percentage chance the rumors hit critical mass." She pointed to the
pinnacle of the tower, a place of convergence. "I figure we need to start
with our most influential friends tonight and work our way to the
bottom of the list by tomorrow morning."

"Why not the other way around?"

"These rumors have to have some foundation before they'll take
hold. One carefully planted source is worth more than a hundred pieces
of idle gossip. That's why I'm going to have Horvil talk to his family
connections at Creed Elan later tonight. How can you get more credible than a creed?"

Natch began a fast-paced circuit around Jara's apartment, but this
time it was less an obsessive march than a confident strut. "I'm
impressed, Jara," he said. It was the first time he had praised her work
in months. "Why the long face?"

Jara scowled. "Wouldn't you have a long face if you had just called
your own mother UNTRUSTWORTHY?"

Her sarcasm ricocheted off him like light off a mirror. "You really
are something, Jara," he said. "I don't know how you manage to stay
so detached through all this. My emotions have been all over the place
the past few weeks. I've been irritable and demanding, I know ... but
that's just because I can't seem to find your level of professionalism. In
fact, Horvil said to me the other day that you're really the glue holding
this fiefcorp together ..."

On and on it went, and Jara found herself responding to his abject flattery in spite of herself. She had a secret weakness for a handsome
face and a sugary voice, and Natch could be devastating when he
turned on the charm. How does he do that? she cursed silently. Didn't
she know by now that Natch's apologies were never sincere, that the
honeyed words were just another weapon in his arsenal?

Nevertheless, his strategy worked. Somehow he had discovered her
weakness for praise and exploited it. Jara found herself responding to
the low, erotic pulse Natch stirred up in her-that he could stir up in
anyone, male or female, at his discretion-and hated it. Hated it and
hungered for it like she had never hungered for any of the hundred
sexual satisfaction programs she had tried in the thirty years since initiation.

Or are you just jealous? she asked herself. He's still in his twenties and
he's ready to take over the world. You're past forty, and you're still working as
an apprentice.

"We're going to be number one on Primo's tomorrow, Jara, and we
couldn't have done it without you," said Natch with a hand on her
shoulder. It was a firm hand, not inappropriate, but still pregnant with
possibilities. "The capitalmen are going to remember this in a few
years, when you finally get sick of working for me and venture out on
your own again. They're going to beg you to accept their money."

The analyst ran three fingers self-consciously through her curly
mountain of hair. She wished there were an easy way to turn off the
sensation of Natch's virtual grasp, but the multi network didn't allow
that level of customization. "Yeah, well, maybe," she replied lamely.

And then, seconds later, he vanished. His smile remained burned
on her retinas.

Jara tiptoed down the hall to make sure Natch had indeed cut his
multi connection and not just ducked into the next room to deceive
her. You're so paranoid, Jara, she told herself. This is your apartment.
Nobody can multi here without your permission. Still, she breathed a sigh of
relief after determining that her boss was not in the flat. Natch had been known to perform miracles before.

She glanced back at the ziggurat and nearly retched. There it sat,
in three dimensions-the evidence of her final degradation in the
bio/logics trade. There has to be some way to stop this from happening.

Jara stood at her window and watched the London evening crowd
go about its business. Of course, it wasn't a real window; Jara couldn't
afford an apartment with exterior walls on her meager fiefcorp stipend,
and had to settle for flat viewscreens. But how easy it was to just tune
in an exterior view from the building and pretend. Down below, hundreds of people bustled around the public square, thousands maybe,
casually perusing the Data Sea with hardly a thought to the bio/logic
programs that ran their lives. Bio/logics regulating their heartbeats,
bio/logics keeping their appointment calendars, bio/logics pumping
sensory information into their skulls every second.