Slant (44 page)

270 GREG BEAR

"Yes." She's half expected this.

"Please join us, Ms. Choy." The woman smiles and holds out her hand. "I'm Helena Daniels, and this is Federico Torres. We're with the Fderal Bureau of Investigation, Special Data and Biological."

Mary shakes her hand. "Pardon me, but how do you mean, join you?"

"You've been assigned to help us," Daniels explains. "By a..." She refers to her pad.

"Nussbaum," Torres finishes for her.

"Nussbaum," Daniels confirms.

"We have three others traveling with us, all out of Seattle," Torres explains as they go to a side area reserved for special boarding. "Do you know Dr. Martin Burke?"

Mary knows the name very well, though she has never met him. "Not personally," she says.

"We'll introduce you. This is a matter of some sensitivity. Can we rely on Seattle PD's discretion?"

"I hope so," Mary says. "Can we rely on yours?"

Torres grins, but Daniels seems dedicated to stiff half-familiarities and no humor.

"Our flight is in ten minutes," Daniels says. "That gives us just enough time to get acquainted and see if we can work together."

"Oh, good," Mary says dubiously.

Jonathan's fear has become gelid, palpable, but isolated, allowing his mind to function with clarity. The colors of the people in the elevator are muted but their lines and silhouettes are edgy. He is particularly interested by the blond young man with the active scalp, who mutters the same syllables that Chloe could not restrain herself from saying.

Marcus seems to know something about that. How?

The man named Giffey is focused on the immediate tasks at hand and pays Jonathan almost no attention. The warbeiters in the elevator are as still as if they have been turned off. Jonathan wonders if the military contractors who programmed the nano and assemblers that formed these warbeiters used nutrients from his company. Very likely they did.

The elevator doors slide apart. The display says they are on the third level within Omphalos, still above ground. The label announces that this level contains a reception area, a chapel, and a library dedicated to the lives of the occu-

/ SLANT 271

Pickwenn pushes Marcus and Jonathan out into the empty lobby. Dark green frosted glass rises from walls of faux malachite, surrounding the lobby. The effect, contrasted with the velvety gold and green carpet, is dark and extremely elegant.

Marcus, pale and moist, stands in the reception area like a gnome. He does not know what to do with his hands. He settles on clasping them before him.

Pickwenn, Jenner, Giffey, and Hale follow after a reasonable interval. Baker makes a circuit of the enclosed lobby. Doors are not apparent, though through the dark glass, lights and walls are visible as if through the depths of a murky sea.

"This area is under active surveillance," Baker says, and freezes in its curled, horizontal position.

Hale waves his hand. "Hall-oooo!" he says, smiling up toward imagined cameras.

Jonathan contrasts Giffey and Hale. Giffey is by far the smarter of the two, and since he controls the warbeiters, he is the more powerful and important; but Hale considers himself the leader. Marcus has them judged just about right, Jonathan decides.

Jenner pretends to wipe his mouth, but his hand in fact pushes against his lips to still the ghostly syllables. Muh fuh shih kih.

Marcus levels a gaze of fascination and contempt on Jenner.

"Baker, is there a door?" Giffey asks.

"Active mechanisms for a door are in the ceiling." Baker uncurls and crawls forward to point out an area opposite the elevator. "They use electromagnetic motors and have power."

"Can you get through this wall?"

The flexer/controller lifts its head and raps its feet sharply against the faux malachite, and then rises higher and raps them against the dark green frosted glass.

"These walls are concrete and are not heavily reinforced. The glass is two inches thick and may be reinforced. Baker can't break through this but the Hammer can."

Giffey whispers something to Hale and gets into the elevator. The door closes.

Marcus looks down at the carpet. "I can open this door for you," he says. Jenner sputters, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

Marcus shakes his head in pity. "Let me in," he says to the door. Micro-seams form in the glass and in the wall, and the sections slide to one side. Beyond lie a number of armored hatches, as on the floor above, and two doors, one marked LIBRARY, the other CHAPEL.

Marcus gestures to the men as if inviting them in. They do not move. Jenner and Pickwenn look at Hale.

272 GREG BEAR

"May I go in and sit down?" Marcus says. "There are benches on the other

side of the wall. Might as well be comfortable."

"We'll wait," Hale says.

Marcus defiantly walks toward the opening.

Pickwenn blocks him. "You are getting on my nerves," Pickwenn tells Marcus.

"A fucking good way to escape," Jenner observes, waving his pistol at the door. "The door closes, and out you go." His scalp shivers. Jonathan suppresses a strong urge to reach out and slap the man around the crown of his head, just to make him be still. He feels as if he's lost in a freak show: gnomes and giant insects and atavistic young men.

Marcus seems to feel particular animosity toward Jenner. "You don't understand. I'm going to give you all a tour. When your rea/boss gets back with his.., toy... I'll show you everything you want to see. It doesn't matter what you see or what you learn."

He has come within a step of Jenner. Hale holds out his arm.

"Rich, shi," Jenner says in an undertone.

Marcus's glare is pure poisoned delight. "Wonderful," he says. "Wonderful example."

Jenner pushes past Hale's arm and shoves his pistol into Marcus's face. Jonathan hears the crunch of Marcus's nose against the flight guide and Marcus cries out. Jenner slams Marcus against the green wall beside the opening. "You mh shi--" His head shakes. "Youfhfh mh shi--" He can't make the words come out. This infuriates him and he hits Marcus on the side of the head with the pistol. Hale and Pickwenn pull him off, having held back just long enough to let Jenner vent their own aggravation.

Marcus falls into a crouch, hands against his nose and the side of his head. Jonathan kneels beside him. "Let me see," he says. Marcus opens his eyes and glares at him through his splayed fingers. Slowly, he pulls the hand back. Marcus's nose is bleeding profusely. "Crazy bastard," he says thickly.

Jonathan looks back at the others, sees no sympathy there, did not expect any but must gauge the situation carefully. "Lean back," he tells Marcus, father to child. "Lie down and keep your head back."

Marcus complies. The blow to his head does not seem to be serious, though there will soon be a bruise. Marcus spreads out on the floor and Jonathan is

struck by the indignity, by the weakness. Marcus is not a strong man. "Don't provoke them," Jonathan says. "They're already dead," Marcus murmurs.

Jonathan shushes him. Marcus closes his eyes, takes Jonathan's handkerchief to stanch the flow from his nose. He wipes his lips and jaw, leaving smears of bright blood, all the more vivid against the dark walls and carpet. "Giffey's the one," Marcus adds in a whisper. "What do you think? Puppet master."

Pickwenn pulls Jonathan back, off-balance, and he lurches to a stand.

/ SLANT 273

bulk of the Hammer. He sees Marcus on the floor and his face reddens. He turns on the others, examines their faces, and focuses on Jenner. Jenner recognizes Giffey's fury and slowly begins to raise the pistol. "He's an old man," Giffey says. "Have you lost your mind?" Jenner shakes his head. He mutters. "You have lost it, haven't you?" Giffey says, pulling back his anger, his tone almost wheedling. He slowly moves toward Jenner. "Tell me." "I c-can't help it," Jenner says, shaking his head. "My brain is filling with shit, I don't know where it's coming from. I can't stop saying the words. He knows what's wrong with me!" Jenner points his pistol away from Giffey, toward Marcus. "I'll tell you everything about this place," Marcus says coolly. "Mr. Giffey, tell them to put their guns away. They're useless." "I'm the one in charge," Hale says, glancing uncertainly at Giffey. Giffey pushes Jenner's pistol with the palm of his open hand, looks in Jenner's face, and slowly tugs the barrel down. "He's getting on all our nerves. Can you still work?" Jenner nods. "I think so, but I, I don't know how much longer. There's other stuff.., muf shih kih kih fuh... Old stuff. He's making fun of me, he knows something! I've been therapied and it's coming back." "Therapied for what?" Giffey asks softly, watching the young man's eyes and scalp. Jenner seems embarrassed, but he holds back the random sounds long enough to say, "Some kind of d-dopamine balance disorder." "Schizophrenia?" "Seeing things. Acting weird. Genetic. Muh, fuh." "Not Tourette?" "What?" "Tourette syndrome." "No, sir," Jenner says. "I was just a kid. They never mentioned that." Hale shakes his head in disgust. "Can you still work?" he asks Jenner. "I'm trying. I think so." Jonathan sees a peculiar look of satisfaction on Marcus's face. Giffey sees it, too. "Have we been contaminated?" he asks, kneeling beside Marcus. "Just curious. You seem so cocky, and look where it's getting you." Marcus rises to his knees, resting on one hand. Giffey helps him to his feet. Hale seems increasingly frustrated by the reduction of his importance. Jonathan knows that his survival might depend on their social dynamic, on whether or not they can stand up to the games Marcus--and perhaps Omphalos--is playing with them. "So tell me, what's wrong with my friends?" Giffey asks, and his eyes shift to Jenner, then to Pickwenn. "Three out of four social misfits get therapied at some time in their lives,"

274 GREG BEAR

perhaps, but obviously, a decision has been made and it's begun. It's out of my control."

Jenner moves in with the pistol, lips wet and eyes shining, and Giffey deftly lifts the pistol from his hands. Jenner leans up against the wall, turns, and deliberately slams his head twice against the dark green glass. The sound makes Jonathan flinch, though it's delicious, exciting, his heart pounds. He'd like the bastard to do it some more.

"You still have no idea what this place is, do you?" Marcus asks Giffey. Hale tries to insinuate himself, making a circle of three out of a direct line of just two.

"You tell me," Giffey says.

"It's a tourist attraction," Marcus says. "It's a laboratory, and it's a shelter against hard times."

Jonathan feels sick. He can almost smell what's coming, like a bitter tang of smoke.

"This isn't a tomb, Mr. Giffey," Marcus says. "It's a womb. The world is saturated with its own mediocrity. It will sicken and die, and the empty Earth will return to a natural state. The best will take refuge in Omphalos, and in a few dozen years, or perhaps a century, not more, we'll emerge. We'll be almost as naked as the day we were born, and as poor, but we'll have some of the finest servants imaginable. Like your monster friends, only made to help us live and prosper, not to kill."

Jonathan feels as if he is about to choke. He holds his hands to his mouth, turns away from Marcus.

Marcus looks up at the ceiling. "Roddy, let's show Mr. Giffey there's nothing here he can hope to steal--and nothing worth stealing."

15

Jill asks Roddy what he has available to defend Omphalos.

"Two warbeiters, Ferret class, and other things I can't tell you about."

"We need to seal all of these people into a room where they can't hurt you,

i,'

and alert public defense. The sheriff. Law enforcement in the Republic."

"I can't seal off rooms or floors! I do not have that capability. I can only

open and close central doors to prevent damage from fire or breakdown in other

building systems."

"Do you have sprinklers, inert gas discharges?"

"No. The walls are equipped with fire-control coatings."

/ SLANT 275

"There are equipment specifications in memory, never activated because the equipment was never delivered. Marcus does not seem to know about this." "Why haven't you released the warbeiters you do have?" "I have withdrawn them to defend memory cores and my mother's residence.'' "Seefa Schnee is here?" "She has always lived here. She made me and watches over me--except when I act on my own."

The small blue and red Federal jet is fifteen years old, piloted by humans, serviceable but hardly luxurious. It takes them only ten minutes to get airborne, and in five minutes they are at altitude, humming smoothly at twenty thousand feet diagonally across Washington state. The four agents and Martin Burke join Mary Choy in a small conference cabin at the front, with Daniels standing. Two of the agents--the ones accompanying Burke--dress and act differently from Torres and Daniels. They say very little. One is named Hench, the other--she hasn't been told his name. Martin regards Mary Choy warily, waiting for her to make some comment. It was Choy who traveled to Hispaniola in search of the poet and murderer Emanuel Goldsmith, when in fact Goldsmith was undergoing an examination-under highly questionable circumstances--in Martin's laboratory in California. Choy, however, does not seem at all interested in broaching this topic. "Dr. Burke is an authority on modern mental therapy instruments and techniques," Helena Daniels says. "Most important for us, he understands the design of therapy implant monitors better than almost anybody." There is a pause, as if Martin is expected to say something. "Thank you," he murmurs. Daniels smiles thinly and continues. "What we have here is a wholesale breakdown of mental health in previously therapied individuals. Fallbacks. Miz Choy, I'm sure you're aware of Public Defense stats showing recent increases in crime and antisocial behavior." Mary nods. "Dr. Burke, you've consulted with Workers Inc Northwest, which is facing similar problems among its clients. Fallbacks are certainly not unknown in mental therapy, particularly radical therapy." "Seldom more than three percent," Burke comments.

276 GREG BEAR

Workers Inc Northwest has issued a warning that there is a very high-level INDA or thinker hacking public datafiow. It seems to be able to penetrate any firewall. Theoretically, that isn't possible. Not even multiplexed petafiop machines can generate the code keys to penetrate today's firewalls. The government certainly can't. We have to trust our citizens." Daniels smiles ironically. "But someone has made a system capable of getting through the most redundantly secure firewalls known. Ms. Choy, you've had some experience with this in the last day or so. Something involving a billionaire investor, Terence Crest, who committed suicide two days ago." "Yes," Mary says. "We wanted to question Crest about another case, but he killed himself before we could talk with him." "Crest came to me," Martin says. "He wanted emergency therapy, on a private and confidential basis, which I'm not licensed to perform." "Crest's personal records were hacked and some of them were erased," Mary adds. "That's not supposed to be possible." The agents listen intently. "That's one reason we're flying on an older jet with human pilots instead of an automated swan," Francisco Torres interjects. Mary pauses to absorb this, then continues, "Someone or something that may be calling itself Roddy hacked datafiow at a private party and killed one person, and nearly killed another, a possible witness to the Crest suicide. She saw a simulated portrait of Roddy and described it as a young man standing in thick black dirt." "Roddy," Daniels muses, shaking her head. "A man named Nathan Rashid is flying in from Mind Design in California, I hope in time to meet us at the airport in Moscow. He may have something to say about Roddy." Hench's eyes catch Mary's, and he smiles and looks down, pretending humility or just lack of concern. But Mary senses immediately: Hench knows who and what Roddy is. He knows the name, knows it well. What is going on here) "Crest went to Green Idaho to talk with federal agents," Mary says. "With you?" She stares at Hench and the other, unnamed agent, but they do not return her look. Daniels nods. "He arranged for a meeting," she says, "and then, at the last minute, backed out." Martin folds his hands and looks around the cabin, as if disoriented. "Excuse my density, but how are all these things connected with fallbacks, and with me?" "This is absolutely privileged information," says Francisco Torres. "Mind Design's primary thinker, Jill, has been contacted by another thinker that calls itself Roddy. Mind Design at first did not know the importance of this machine-to-machine touch, but Roddy apparently transferred a kind of confession to Jill, complete with huge amounts of evidence." "A thinker, feeling guilty?" Martin asks, dismayed.

/ SLANT 277

unorthodox design, put together with private funding. Mind Design once employed a woman named Seefa Schnee, apparently a real piece of work--brilliant, but very unorthodox. She had certain ideas about organic computing. She thought she could use evolution as a heuristic device. Some scientists regard evolution as a high-level natural neural process, involving thought on the species level."

"Evolution? How?" Martin asks. "With dirt?"

Daniels shrugs. "For a time, Schnee worked for Terence Crest. He recruited her into a group called the Aristos." She pronounced it "arr-ist'us." "The Aristos limit their membership exclusively to high naturals. Don't believe in mental therapy. Oddly, they allowed Seefa Schnee into the Aristos even though she suffered from an unusual and treatable mental condition--perhaps because this condition was self-induced."

"What sort of condition?" Mary asks.

"I know," Martin says incredulously. "My God, I know what this is all leading up to."

"Not tough to figure at this point, is it?" Torres asks.

"Tourette syndrome," Martin says, a little aghast, and then even more aghast that nobody contradicts him.