The Big Sheep (32 page)

“Forgive me, Mr. Keane,” said Selah, “but I'm still not seeing how any of this speculation is going to make me not want to erase your memory.”

Keane continued, “The other clue came when I realized the truth about Mag-Lev—that he was just an actor you had plucked out of obscurity to play a part. Clearly, you have the means to pull off an extremely effective psyops campaign, but I had a hard time seeing how you would gather the intelligence necessary to install a warlord in the DZ. That would take more than a generalized psyops campaign; it would require an intimate knowledge of the internal politics of the DZ. There are only a handful of people with that sort of knowledge, and none of them are likely to run in the same circles as a Hollywood media tycoon. That leaves only people who were involved in a certain top-secret project to control the aftermath of a cataclysmic breakdown of the federal government.”

“Maelstrom,” I said, realizing what Keane was getting at. Selah bit her lip.

“As I'm sure you're aware, during my previous career I was intimately involved in Maelstrom. We designed the DZ down to the smallest detail,” said Keane. “We knew exactly when the breakdown was going to happen, and how it was going to play out. We knew who the key players were going to be in the drama of the Collapse in Los Angeles before they even knew themselves. But there were two things I never figured out. The first was where the forecasting data came from. The predictive model was near perfect, but I could never determine who had devised it. The second was who was paying for the program. The money came from a nonprofit organization called the Los Angeles Future Foundation. LAFF didn't divulge its donors. I spent no small amount of time trying to dig up something on them, but came up empty. The funny thing is, once I thought to look for a connection between Flagship Media and LAFF, it was relatively easy to connect the dots. Easy for me, anyway. I have an eye for patterns. Oh, and a contact in the banking industry.”

It was hard to focus through the pain in my arm, but the gist of what Keane was saying gradually penetrated. “You're saying Empathix saw the Collapse coming,” I murmured. “And Selah used that information to set up LAFF to reshape Los Angeles.”

Keane nodded. “It's no accident that Selah's net worth skyrocketed shortly after the Collapse, when other billionaires were losing their shirts. She reduced her investment in anything denominated in dollars and put her money in hard assets that could weather a currency crisis. She lost just enough money to cover her tracks, but by the end of the Collapse, she was up nearly a hundred billion dollars. And that's just on paper. What the financial records don't show is that, thanks to the restructuring of Los Angeles, Selah is now uniquely positioned to control the future of the entertainment industry. Her programs set in the DZ are just one small part of it. Selah holds enough interests in media properties in this town that virtually nothing happens without her say-so. And since journalism is essentially a vestigial organ in the entertainment industry these days, it means she also controls the news. Combine that with her ownership of Empathix, and you've got a near-perfect system for manipulating public opinion. The only reason Selah Fiore isn't universally recognized as the most powerful person on the planet is because that's exactly how she wants it.”

“Well done, Mr. Keane,” said Selah. “I assume your plan is to release this information in an attempt to sully my reputation, and maybe subject me to a tedious SEC investigation. Pardon me if I'm not exactly quaking with fear.”

Keane smiled. “That's because you assume you can control the story. No doubt you've got a contingency plan in place for the eventuality that this information becomes public. But there's a problem with predictive models like the ones Empathix uses, and overreliance on such models can create blind spots in your planning.”

“Do enlighten me, Mr. Keane,” said Selah. She was trying to fake boredom, but she wasn't the actress she once was.

“Individual action,” said Keane. “Generally, the consequences of any individual's actions are insignificant, and can be accounted for in the model. But there are situations in which an individual is uniquely situated to disrupt the system in ways the model can't predict. For example, if I don't leave this building with that sheep, two things are going to happen. First, Jason Banerjee is going to release a secret dossier that details the Maelstrom program. His intention is to ruin me, but I've arranged to have the financial records linking Flagship to LAFF sent to him. So he'll get to ruin me and smear you at the same time. Second, Mag-Lev is going to launch an all-out war against you. You might be able to weather a federal investigation or a turf war with Mag-Lev, but not both at the same time. One way or another, you're finished.”

Selah took this all in, regarding Keane coldly. “Congratulations, Mr. Keane,” she said at last. “You do have a talent for manipulation. It would seem that the only rational option for me at this point is to let you go.”

“Indeed,” said Keane.

“Sadly,” she said, “you've made a miscalculation of your own.”

“Really,” said Keane flatly. “And what might that be?”

Selah smiled. “I'm not a rational person.”

Keane raised an eyebrow at her. “Don't be absurd. You didn't get where you are today by being irrational.”

“You conflate strategy and motivations, Mr. Keane. My strategies are rational. My motivations are not. ‘The irrationality of a thing is no argument against its existence, rather a condition of it.'”

“Nietzsche,” said Keane, shaking his head. I sympathized. It was never a good thing when a bad guy started quoting Nietzsche. “You're seriously going to go through with this just to spite me?”

“Certainly not,” said Selah. “Not everything is about you, Mr. Keane. Maybe I will lose this fight eventually, but not because I rolled over when the great Erasmus Keane told me it was my only option. I control my own destiny.”

Keane cocked his head at this remark, as if realizing something he'd missed. “Yes,” he murmured. “I suppose we all do.” He glanced at Dr. Allebach, who frowned at him. Keane then turned to look at me. No, not at me. At the lab technician standing next to the bed. The one I thought looked familiar.

“Fascinating,” said Keane.

Selah sighed irritably. “You've made your play, Mr. Keane,” said Selah. “It didn't work. Try to accept your fate with some dignity.”

“It's not my fate that's in question,” said Keane, “It's yours. I'm afraid you've been outsmarted, Selah.”

“You expect me to believe you have another card up your sleeve, Mr. Keane? Please. This sort of stalling is beneath you.”

“Oh, you haven't been outsmarted by
me
,” said Keane. “That honor goes to Bryn Jhaveri.”

Selah scowled. “What in the hell are you talking about, Keane?” she demanded. “Bryn Jhaveri is a sheep locked in an underground room. She doesn't have a clue what's going on here. How could she possibly have outsmarted me?”

“See, that's the core of your problem right there,” said Keane. “You want to have it both ways. You deify Priya Mistry but think of Bryn Jhaveri as cattle. You want a goddess in a box. It doesn't work like that.”

“I'm starting to think your plan is to drive me to suicide just so I don't have to listen to you pontificate anymore,” Selah said.

Keane chuckled. “Come on,” he said. “I can't be the only one who sees it. Help me out here, Fowler.”

“Keane,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I've got a big, horrifying, tentacled mind-sucking machine stuck on my head right now, so maybe you could just get to the fucking point.”

“Sorry,” Keane said. “It just seems so clear to me now. You said it yourself, Fowler. Priya Mistry is logic Kryptonite.”

“Am I supposed to understand what that means?” Selah said impatiently.

“Oh, I think you understand it quite well,” said Keane. “You're intensely aware of the effect Priya has on the men around her. Particularly men who spend a great deal of time with her, and who know her every thought.”

“Is that what this is about?” Selah asked. “Dr. Allebach's obsession with Priya? I always thought it was harmless. Pathetic, but harmless.”

Allebach glared at her but said nothing.

“It's certainly pathetic,” said Keane. “But you may want to rethink the harmless part. Have you lost track of any of your clones in the past few weeks?”

“Of course not,” said Selah. “We keep very close tabs on them.”

“You're certain?” said Keane. “Every single one is accounted for. No accidental deaths?”

Selah shrugged. “Occasionally one of them will develop a mutation as a side effect of the accelerated aging process. If it's serious enough, the clone has to be destroyed.”

“And has this happened recently?”

“It's possible,” said Selah. “I don't keep track of every faulty clone we incinerate.”

“I suspect that if you check your records,” said Keane, “you'll find you're one short. A clone that was supposed to be destroyed was never incinerated. And I'm willing to bet that the flaw in this particular clone was an imperfect facial structure. She would still be very pretty, but she wouldn't be mistaken for Priya.”

“This is ridiculous,” Allebach snapped. “We have strict protocols for keeping track of the clones.”

“Protocols you are uniquely suited to subvert,” said Keane, “since you devised them.”

“I'm a scientist,” Allebach growled. “The idea that I would—”

“Shut up, Henry,” said Selah. She turned back to Keane. “You're saying Dr. Allebach grew a customized clone for his own … use?” She seemed mildly disgusted by the idea, which struck me as a bit ironic. Allebach was turning red with either anger or embarrassment, but he said nothing.

“Exactly,” said Keane. “In his defense, he believes he's in love with her. With them. Whatever.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“I knew there was someone inside your organization feeding the clones information,” said Keane. “Someone slipping letters to them that were signed Noogus. It had to be somebody with intimate details of Bryn's childhood as well as information about your plans for the sheep. Once we determined that the Priyas were clones, the obvious answer was that Noogus was another clone.”

Selah seemed dubious. “So Dr. Allebach abducted this clone and then set her loose so she could feed information to the other clones? I'm sorry, Mr. Keane, but that makes no sense. If she wanted to shut me down, why didn't she just send you the address of my lab? Why be so cryptic about it? For that matter, why not just go to the FBI?”

“That's exactly what I couldn't figure out,” said Keane. “Until now. You provided the answer yourself. Bryn Jhaveri doesn't just want to expose you. She wants the same thing you do, Selah. The same as all of us, really. To control her destiny.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Selah.

“Try to see this from Bryn's point of view. Or points of view, rather. Bryn isn't a sheep; she's a person. More precisely, she is
persons
. Each has essentially the same personality, but different circumstances and points of view. Imagine what that must be like. How would you react if you found out you were one of many, that what you thought of as ‘you' was simply a template for any number of points of consciousness existing in the universe? It's the ultimate philosophical question writ large: What is my relationship as an individual to the
other
? I suspect many of us would react with shock, hate, anger, fear. But that's not how Bryn Jhaveri reacted. When one Bryn met another in my office, there was a moment of shock, but very quickly they were watching bad sitcoms together, like old friends. Sisters, even. Can you imagine having that level of comfort with yourself? The ability to be okay with the fact that somebody else is running around with your personality? The level of empathy each Bryn is capable of possessing for the others is astounding. Now imagine that one Bryn becomes aware of the existence of all the others, and how they are being manipulated and abused. What does she do? How does she express her empathy for them?”

“She tries to shut the operation down,” said Selah. “As I said, if she wanted to do that—”

“No!” exclaimed Keane. “I mean, yes, she wants to shut you down, but she wants more than that. What does she do for the clones who are already out there? Remember what you said in your office, Selah? You asked what we would do if we had control over the clones. You said you had to shield them from the truth for their own good. But you don't have their best interests at heart. Bryn does. I'm not asking what
you
would do, Selah. I'm asking what
Bryn
would do.”

The answer suddenly hit me. “She'd let them choose,” I said.

“Bingo!” cried Keane. “She'd give them just enough information to figure out the conspiracy if they really wanted to. Cryptic notes from Noogus, pointing them in the right direction, but no conclusive proof. We know two of them sought out the truth, but we don't know how many letters Nikki sent. She could only communicate with the ones who were brought back here recently. And maybe some of the clones ignored the warnings, hoping to persist in the delusion.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Selah spoke. “Nikki?” she asked.

“Hey?” replied Keane.

“You said, ‘We don't know how many letters Nikki sent.' Who the hell is Nikki?”

“Oh!” exclaimed Keane. “I'm sorry. Got a little ahead of myself.” He turned to face the technician next to me. “Nikki, why don't you introduce yourself.”

The woman took a step back, bumping into the bed. She turned for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of her face.