Neurolink (28 page)

“You could have drowned me,” he said. “I was willing.”

“Dominic.” She brushed her lips against his. Soft. Dry. Barely a touch. It took him by surprise. “We need you,” she said.

When he leaned toward her for more, the room swam. His one-eyed perspective disoriented him, and he couldn’t gauge distances. He swung his arms to embrace her, but she moved out of reach.

“Qi, I’m sorry. That offer to trade fuel and supplies, you know mat was just a ruse. ZahlenBank will never bargain with prot—protected employees.”

“You told us an untruth? I’m floored.”

Qi offered him a water sack and a plate of cookies. He gulped water and picked up a lumpy hard cookie, studded with bits of synthetic fruit. Because his stomach was so empty, he no longer felt like eating, so he merely held it in his hand. “I know you want me to negotiate with the council, but—”

“No, Dominic. We don’t want you to negotiate
with
the council. We want you to negotiate
for
the council.”

“What?”

“We want you to speak for us. Go head to head with ZahlenBank, and get us a loan.”

For a moment, Dominic could think of nothing to say. She wanted him to represent the miners? He was president of the bank. Had she never heard the phrase, “conflict of interest”? Unaware of what he was doing, he crammed the whole cookie in his mouth, where it melted like sweet glue.

A short while later, he found himself perched on the edge of a faux leather chair, gazing across a polished table in the officers’ mess. Gervasia was talking, but Dominic listened with only half an ear. Qi’s outrageous request still revolved in his head, and he had no attention left for mundane matters, such as how the genie in his eye had been destroyed. But Gervasia explained anyway. Apparently, when he resisted the NP’s attempt to take over his muscles, his epinephrine spiked off the chart and zapped the nanoquans in a lethal chemical bath. Now the fried mites were dissolving in his bloodstream and washing away.

“The next time you urinate,” Gervasia said, “you’ll be pissing liquid bit-brain.”

Still in a fog, Dominic fingered the gauze bandage and nodded. He had to admit, it was a relief to have only one brain in his skull again. He would have savored the blessed silence, but there were questions he needed to ask, and around this table sat all the people who could answer.

Millard, Naomi, Estaban, Penderowski, Sereb, Djuju, Massoud—all the characters in the play staged for his benefit. Qi lounged in the chair to his left, his blind side, so he had to turn deliberately to see her long slender legs thrown up over the chair arm. At his right, Tooksook slid the plate of fruit cookies closer to his hand, and Juanita refilled his executive-issue crystal tumbler with water. He didn’t see Benito. Benito hadn’t been part of the play. That pudgy teacher was missing, too, he noted. At the head of the small table, Gervasia laid down her gavel and gave him the floor. The council stared at him with open, expectant faces.

What should he say? He tried to formulate a statement in his head, but then a thought struck, and he blurted, “Where’s Ane Zaki?”

“Anzie’s not well,” Qi said in a taut voice. “She knew you’d ask. She sends regards.”

“That brings up an important issue,” Gervasia said. “Why we need money. As you know, we’re running short on supplies.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Naomi said.

“Right,” Dominic broke in, “you have less than an hour’s worth of oxygen.”

“Or maybe two more days.” Millard’s wire-rim spectacles caught the light. He unclipped the ballpoint pen from his hair and tapped at a small notebook lying open on the table before him. “It’s a moving target, but numbers don’t lie. We’re on the verge of catastrophe.”

“Hey, let’s not be pessimistic.” Massoud smoothed his mustache. “We’ll give the coin guy the wrong impression.”

“Two more days?” To Dominic, that seemed like a lifetime. “How long have I been here?”

No one seemed to hear him. They were all talking at once, and he had to resist the urge to pound the table. Instead, he raised his voice. “This disaster is your own doing. Your experiment could have worked, but you invited too many people.”

“We invited everyone!” Naomi hammered the table with her fist. “We even invited you!”

Penderowski said, “Who should we leave out, mate?”

“Exclusivity contradicts our stated aims.” Millard stared at the table and frantically clicked his pen.

“Yes, yes, but we’ve stopped the broadcast, Nick.” Tooksook fluttered his hands for everyone to calm down, then he pushed the cookie plate till it bumped Dominic’s elbow. Dominic just managed to keep it from sliding off the table.

“That’s right, college.” Sereb leaned on his beefy elbows. “Last night, your freakin’ NP nearly traced us. We were forced to shut it down.”

“That devil in your eye may be dead, but its big brother patrols the airwaves like a demigod,” said Gervasia. “Since you’ve been away, that bit-brain has collected some potent add-ons. It calls itself Chairman Jedes, and it’s prying into everything. It even tried to sabotage the WTO.”

Naomi jutted out her chin. “Doesn’t matter about the broadcast. People will still come. One person tells another. Everyone wants to be free.”

“Not everyone,” Sereb boomed. “Getting here is no stroll in the mall. There’s plenty of cowards wanna play it safe.” He leaned back and folded his massive arms across his chest.

A general hubbub broke out then as council members interrupted each other. Dominic smiled wryly. These people behaved just like execs, everyone spouting opinions, no one listening. He turned to trade a wink with the major, but Qi sprawled sideways in her chair with one arm flung across her eyes. He marveled at her ability to fall asleep. She still wore the same cutoff uniform, pungent with sweat. Almost all of the councilors wore soiled, ragged clothes. Only he and Naomi sported Nord.Com dress blues, and for a moment, he felt keenly self-conscious.

Gervasia pounded her gavel, and the group gradually settled down.

“Back to the original issue,” Gervasia said. “Why we need money. Given enough time, we can be self-sustaining. But we’re in a short-term bind. We need fuel cells, antibiotics and cancer drugs, in that order.”

“And I need a pump,” said Millard.

Dominic processed this information. In a hesitant voice, he asked, “Does Ane Zaki have cancer?”

“She’ll appreciate your worry,” Qi snapped.

So the major wasn’t sleeping after all. Dominic saw the tight set of her mouth. What was she angry about now?

“We all have cancer, Nick. Even you,” said Gervasia. “Look at your right hand.”

Dominic glanced at the inflammation that had now spread halfway up his forearm. Skin rash. First sign of toxic exposure. So his executive blood had not protected him after all. He felt amazingly calm about it. After what had happened, a little touch of cancer seemed trivial.

Djuju, the miner woman, stood up and spoke in an even voice. “I believe we skipped over the most important thing.” Dominic noticed the respectful attention everyone paid to Djuju, so he turned to study her—and found her observant gray eyes studying him. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. After a short pause, she said, “We wanted to thank you, coin man.”

“Yes, I suppose we did.” Naomi sniffed and smoothed her hair.

“You made everything possible,” said Estaban. “You set us free.”

“That’s why we named this ship,” said Penderowski, “to honor you.”

Another hubbub erupted as everyone offered gratitude, and Dominic was flabbergasted. “I haven’t done anything,” he repeated more than once.

Gervasia pounded her gavel, and Dominic tugged at his eye bandage. The skin underneath was beginning to itch.

Wiry Massoud hopped up and waved his hand. “You mentioned a straight loan package at prime plus two. We’re willing to go with that.”

“We don’t want handouts,” said Sereb. “We’ll pay it back.”

“Assuming the terms are reasonable,” said Millard.

“You can vouch for us,” said Djuju. “Tell Z-Bank we’re good for our word.”

“I still think Nord.Com owes us punitive damages,” Naomi muttered.

Dominic drummed his fingers on the table. Even now, the NP was hunting them with satellite-based weapons—and they expected ZahlenBank to lend them money? The idea was preposterous. Lending to employees was against bank policy. Even if the NP didn’t oppose them, the board would reject their application. That broadcast had been their only bargaining chip. Without it, they had nothing to trade. They were dreaming.

But Dominic couldn’t say all that to the grave, earnest people facing him around this table. Penderowski leaned forward and crossed his young, work-hardened hands. Gervasia’s blue eyes smoldered. Djuju impaled him with her intelligent gaze. Tooksook slipped a cookie off the plate and passed it to Naomi.

Dominic rolled his head till one aching vertebra popped in his neck. More than anything, he wanted to laugh. This negotiation would be a farce, and they were asking him to play the chief buffoon. He said, “Go on. I’m listening.”

In the next three hours, he learned many things. Gervasia did most of the talking, though Millard interrupted with statistics-, and others emphasized key points. Djuju propped her feet on the table, and Massoud jerked at his mustache as if he meant to rip it out by the roots. Only Major Qi remained silent, curled sideways in her chair with an arm covering her eyes.

Gervasia explained how they first came to the difficult decision of giving up their mobility. They could have kept running. That was the safest course. But other workers couldn’t have found them, and that was no good. From the moment Dominic Jedes appeared on the Net and gave them their submarine, they knew the world had turned upside down. Dominic’s gift was too precious to keep to themselves. They had a duty to share it. So they hid in the largest refuse dump in the Arctic Ocean and sent out their first broadcast.

“You recognized me from the beginning?” Dominic asked.

“Sure,” said Gervasia. “We knew who you were.”

“How could we forget your face, mate? You’re our founding father.” Penderowski’s dimples deepened.

Then Dominic asked about the signal cloaking. How did they devise a looping echo technique that even ZahlenBank’s data masters couldn’t break? Yes, it was ingenious, Gervasia said. Someone sent it to them over the Net. An angel. They didn’t know who.

The Orgs! Dominic felt certain Gig had sent that cloaking scheme, but he kept silent and let Gervasia go on.

Almost twenty thousand people now inhabited the colony. Dominic nearly choked when he heard that number. Estaban and his team had been running a steady shuttle service to the rendezvous point. It wasn’t the factory ship anymore. For security, they changed the rendezvous every few hours. How did they communicate its location? Simple. Volunteers in handmade boats patrolled the inlets and bays of the Arctic coast to meet the newcomers. They used old-fashioned horns to signal each other through the smog.

Their Net broadcast reached workers as far away as Uzbekistan and California. Until last night. Last night, they got an anonymous tip that ZahlenBank was very close to tracing them, so they shut down. Dominic wanted to know about this anonymous whistle-blower. Was it the same mysterious angel who gave them the cloaking technique? Gervasia claimed not to know. Who else could it be but the Orgs, Dominic thought, though he kept his suspicions private.

They moved on to the topic of life support. Food was not an issue. Naomi’s bugs were infinitely prolific, and vats were easy to build. It turned out Dominic had seen only one of the many vat rooms hewn into the bedrock below the Arctic Sea. He also learned that some of Penderowski’s homemade sealant worked rather well. And Sereb’s miners had built an underground electrolysis plant to harvest potable water from the ocean. When Dominic asked how they built so much so quickly, the mining chief laughed and reminded him of the one item they didn’t lack—labor.

Food and water were coveted, but air was another story. Just as Dominic had feared, Millard was already rationing oxygen in the less crowded areas. He had salvaged a third respirator from one of the wrecks, and he’d been working around the clock to bring it online. Meanwhile as a stopgap, divers were constructing oversize snorkels to draw atmosphere directly from the surface with a rotary-cranked bellows. They planned to filter it through a set of old respirator membranes they’d found in the junk heap, and Millard thought they could eke out enough breathable air with this antiquated tech to keep everyone conscious—as long as the electrical power lasted.

Power, that was the ultimate key to everything. Power grew the food, ran the water plant, purified the air. The combined
Pressure
and
Jedes
power plants were operating at maximum output, and divers had scoured the other wrecks for working fuel cells—to no avail. Ane Zaki had implemented rolling blackouts, and her technicians were building more gas turbines to boost cell efficiency. But that wouldn’t be enough. Her group had been experimenting with ocean thermal energy conversion when she fell ill. Now progress was slow. The blackouts were getting longer and more frequent—which didn’t bode well for air production, or food, or water or anything else.

As an emergency measure, they’d improvised primitive floating windmills to generate extra power. But they hadn’t deployed them yet because satellites would spot the mills the instant they surfaced. As long as the NP was scanning for their location, deploying the mills meant giving up their dream.

“So we need a loan,” Tooksook said, as if that were simplicity itself.

“In two days, or maybe less, we’ll be forced to float the windmills,” said Millard.

“Two days. Splendid.”

“Or maybe less,” said Millard.

Dominic tried to scratch the skin under his bandage. He didn’t know whether to laugh or bash his head against the wall. Maybe he should bash the council’s heads together to knock sense into them. Two days? Negotiate with the world’s mightiest financial institution, without a single point in their favor, when the only thing the NP wanted was to destroy them? And do it all in two days? He almost hooted like Major Qi.