The Administration Series (3 page)

Plus, on a more practical level, he couldn't imagine the department coughing up the money for what would clearly be, for some time to come, staggeringly expensive technology.

He had to admit, though — it
was
interesting. Fascinating, even. He found he was a little sorry when the talk ended and the speaker began fielding questions from the audience about the practical applications of the new sim technology. Good voice, Toreth thought. Overarticulates. Sign of a control freak. He smiled. He enjoyed control freaks — it gave him something to take away.

Currently the man was evading a question from one of the more expensively-dressed audience members about the potential applications of sim machines in Administration leisure centres. The man had rephrased his question twice in the face of the speaker's polite references to confidentiality agreements with corporate partners in the leisure industry. Toreth checked the clock on the wall and wondered if the after-lecture buffet would be as terrible as they usually were.

A new voice attracted Toreth's attention.

"Are you aware of the recent review in the
Journal of Re-education Research
which discusses the potential applications of simulation in the field of psychoprogramming?"

Toreth's eyes narrowed. Mentioning a restricted-circulation journal in public wasn't a clever move. He looked around for the speaker. There. A university type, earnest and obviously dangerously idealistic.

The man continued, with the delightful addition of the academic's touch of distancing himself from a dangerous opinion. "I have heard it described as potentially the most effective tool of oppression since memory blocking."

Toreth upgraded his assessment from 'idealism' to 'death wish'. He had far better things to do than report the man but, even in the sheltered university environment, there were doubtless others with both the time and the inclination.

Keir Warrick paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the lectern.

"I am afraid that I have no helpful answer to give." He sounded disapproving, although Toreth couldn't tell whether of the question or the questioner. "I am aware of the paper referred to. All I can say is that it is not an area SimTech plans to exploit, but I have no more power over how the technology may be used in the more distant future than I do over the opinions of the questioner's acquaintances."

Toreth could well imagine that Doctor Warrick had been over these arguments a hundred times before and was sick of them. The Administration had the power to compel the licensing of new developments to the appropriate departments — the balancing factor was that the corporates as a block had the political clout to ensure that the Administration provided substantial compensation. In this case, Toreth could think of half a dozen highly useful applications without even trying; the interdepartmental fighting over budgets would be spectacular.

"Do you not consider that there are ethical obligations inherent in the development of new technology?" the idealist asked. Persistent, if not bright.

"Certainly," Warrick said evenly. "That is the reason that the university has provided us with the invaluable guidance of an ethics committee."

That drew a scattered laugh from the academics present.

"However, obligations cannot change commercial realities, as I'm sure you already know. And now —" He moved his attention from the man's face, effectively silencing him. "— I'm afraid I must bring the questions to a close. Thank you all for your attention today."

Appreciative applause followed the lecturer off the stage.

The food was unexpectedly good — excellent, in fact, suggesting it had been provided by SimTech, aiming to impress their guests. Toreth had just completed a sweep of the buffet table when a group beside him walked away and he caught sight of Doctor Warrick, standing only a few metres away, holding a glass of something colourless with ice in it but no plate of food. Attendees ebbed and flowed around them, but for the moment the corporate had no one monopolising his attention.

Toreth hadn't had any particular plans to approach the man, but curiosity drew him over.

"Excellent lecture, Doctor," Toreth said.

The man turned his head. Impassive dark eyes looked at him out of a face dominated by high cheekbones, too much nose, and the most beautiful mouth Toreth had ever seen on a man. Warrick smiled just a little.

"Thank you. And you are — ?"

Toreth hadn't worn the official nametag supplied, so he felt free to lie; the I&I name could be a handicap to casual conversation. "Marcus Toth. Pleased to meet you."

"You have an interest in computer sim technology, then. What business are you in?"

"Not business, Doctor. Government." Toreth gave the man a smile of his own.

"Ah. Are you hoping to license from us, Mr. Toth? If you are, I'm afraid you'll have to make an official approach to SimTech. Or are you simply a civil servant out on a career development activity during his lunch hour?"

"I'm neither. Just interested in the topic, that's all."

"People are generally interested for a reason."

"Of course. It has a bearing on what I do for a living. I fuck minds," Toreth said pleasantly.

"I see." Warrick took a sip of his drink, his expression calculating. "Neurosurgeon? No," he answered himself. "You didn't introduce yourself as Doctor Toth. Socioanalyst, perhaps, if you were more . . ." He thought for a moment, his fascinating smile flickering and dying again. "Arrogant," he said finally.

Toreth's smile grew. Lack of arrogance wasn't something he'd been accused of before.

Warrick looked Toreth up and down, obviously appraising him with care.

"Para-investigator, maybe," Warrick said.

Toreth laughed, delighted. "Not even close. I study brain biochemistry, at the Pharmacology Division of the Department of Medical Research. I saw the announcement of your lecture and decided to attend." Toreth leaned closer, glad he'd put in a little research before he came to the seminar. "I read your paper on preliminary computer sim in
Neuromanipulation
some years ago. Ground-breaking work, Doctor."

Warrick tilted his head a fraction, considering. "That journal was not circulated to the general public."

"No," said Toreth, giving him a just-enough-teeth smile. "It wasn't."

"I see. You fuck minds," Warrick said evenly. He put his glass down on the buffet.

Seeing the man with his eyes cast down, his hand stretched out to place the glass on the table, dark hair showing on his forearm where the cuff rode up, the impulse that had led Toreth to initiate the conversation crystallised into something sharper.

"Doctor Warrick?"

Toreth recognised the man who had introduced Warrick in the lecture — a dark-skinned man with a deeply lined face and a dated suit which screamed academic, in contrast to Warrick's corporate smartness.

As the two of them talked, Toreth took a step away and fitted his comm in his ear.

"Sara," he said.

She answered with her usual speed. "Yes, Toreth?"

"Find me a room for tonight. Somewhere Marcus Toth would take a corporate." Toreth spoke under his breath — the comm's throat microphone was sensitive enough to pick up subvocalized speech from the movement of muscles without any sound being generated. With Toreth turned away from him, even if Warrick looked over he'd have no idea of the conversation happening a couple of meters away.

"How about the Renaissance Centre?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, that's good."

The hotel was one of his favourite fuck venues — somewhere expensive enough to make a suitable impression on a minor corporate type, but not so expensive that the accounts department would reject the expenses claim out of hand. The tone of the place was indicated by the real live receptionist he could faintly hear talking to Sara.

"They have rooms available," Sara relayed, with the ease of a woman used to handling multiple comm conversations. "And they're discounting, so I can squeeze one of their mid-price rooms through expenses. Shall I book it?"

"I'll tell you in a minute."

"You will excuse me, I'm sure," Warrick was saying to the academic as Toreth looked back. The man nodded and withdrew into the crowd.

As Warrick started to turn away, Toreth stepped closer and gripped his arm. Through the sleeve of the man's expensive suit, Toreth felt the muscles tense underneath his fingers, and he saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Toreth changed his smile to something more appropriately suggestive. "One moment, please."

Releasing the doctor's arm, he produced a matte white card from his pocket, wrote the hotel name on it, and held it out. "I'd be interested in continuing our conversation later."

Warrick's dark eyes didn't leave Toreth's nor did his face change as he took the card between the first and second fingers of his right hand. A couple of seconds' hesitation, and the card went into his pocket. Then a small nod and Warrick moved off into the milling crowd behind them.

"Target acquired," Toreth said, lips barely moving.

Sara laughed. "Room 212, west wing. Pick up the card at the desk as usual."

Toreth smiled, still watching Warrick's retreating back. "You're a star."

Toreth had planned a lazy afternoon. However, outside the university building, he summoned a taxi, and in half an hour was back at his desk at I&I.

He switched on his computer screen, ran the search on the Data Division security files, and glanced at the summary page: parents Leo and Kate — father deceased; one younger sister and an older half-brother; Oxford graduate; first job with the Administration's Data Division; divorced from his wife Melissa seven years ago, with no officially registered relationship since.

Toreth called through to Sara for a coffee, and then sat back to read Doctor Keir Warrick's security file.

Turning the card over in his hand, Warrick stared at the crisply written numerals on the back. It was indeed the number of the Renaissance Centre hotel; a quick call placed earlier in the afternoon had confirmed that a guest by the name of Marcus Toth was registered there.

Warrick leaned back and rubbed his eyes. It was late; he'd had a long day, and he was tired. He had much better things to think about than strangers, however attractive. But his mind would not leave it alone. He knew the man had lied to him, though exactly what about he was not certain.

Yet, his mind added. One corner of his mouth lifted briefly at the implication.

Warrick felt sure that Toth was attracted to him — that smooth line about fucking minds was a challenge and the card an obvious come-on. He didn't put much faith in instinct, but in this case every warning bell had been set ringing after only a couple of minutes of conversation. The man might as well have worn a screen from neck to ankles flashing 'Danger!'. Whatever he was, he wasn't a researcher at the Department of Medicine. Warrick smiled at the idea. If more researchers looked like that, or more particularly moved like that, the university wouldn't have so much trouble recruiting —

Cutting that line of thought dead, he turned his attention to his computer screen and accessed the Administration's civilian files with practised ease. Illegal, of course, but he'd done it often enough to feel safe. He entered 'Marcus Toth', along with a guess for his age, and waited.

The computer threw up a complete background check for the man. Warrick scanned through it. Physical description, date and place of birth, parents' names and birthdates, schools attended, degree earned, employment history, credit report — all the expected information kept on every citizen by the Administration. He noted that Toth was thirty-one years old, had a good though not outstanding academic record, a solid work history and no current credit violations.

Bland, Warrick thought, and much too ordinary.

So probably his previous guess had been right. If he had a ready-to-access false identity at his disposal, Toth was indeed likely to be a para-investigator, or some other Int-Sec denizen. The bastard had laughed when Warrick guessed his real occupation. He'd been
pleased
. A game. Well, he wasn't the only one who could play games . . .

Warrick leaned back in the chair and tried for precisely one minute to persuade himself to let it go. It had been a five-minute encounter with an ethically-challenged Administration minion who had nothing better to do with his afternoon than sniff out new ways of hurting people. And hand out his hotel number to strangers. Absently, he rubbed the place on his arm where Toth had held him. There was no point in doing anything about it. This was a dangerous kind of game to get involved in, particularly right now, when he had so much else to worry about.

I want to see him again.

He thought that thought exactly once, then put it firmly out of his mind.

Then he picked the card up again and contacted the number.

When Toreth checked for messages at hotel reception in the morning, he wasn't surprised to find one from Warrick. The content threw him slightly.

Come and experience the future of mind fucking for yourself
. Then the address of a building at the university, and a time, after lunch.