restrain a grin of triumph when he saw that the little man had indeed followed him.
Figaro Fi planted himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. 'You've got balls, and I like that,' said the capitalman sardonically. He pulled a beefy cigar from his coat pocket and chomped on one end. 'Go ahead,' he grunted.
Natch launched into the presentation he had already given a hundred times in his own mind. It was short and to the point. There were holographs of Natch's programming work, a brief list of the accolades he had won in academic competitions, and the outlines of a fiefcorp marketing strategy. When he finished, he made no attempt at idle chitchat, but rather waited patiently for a reaction from his audience.
Figaro wore an almost lecherous grin. 'I like this,' he said. 'You've been planning this whole thing for weeks, haven't you? Waiting until the last minute. The little scene in the hallway out there. Clever, boy, clever! '
Natch stood politely with his hands clasped behind his back and said nothing.
'Of course, you know what I came here to see,' continued Fi. He apparently had no intention of lighting his cigar-a pointless act in multispace anyway preferring instead to swing it between two fingers for emphasis. 'You know I'm not here to see your test scores again. I'm not here to see you perform your programming tricks like some monkey or hear your little prepared speech about how you can benefit society.' The capitalman leaned back and let out a hearty laugh, as if he had just told an extraordinary joke. The gold sequins on his belly jingled sympathetically.
'I'm really here to see how you comport yourself,' continued Figaro. 'To see if you really have that killer instinct I've heard so much about. So tell me, Natch, what makes you think I'm going to put up a single credit tonight?'
'Because if you don't,' replied the boy, 'someone else will.'
'And you think I'm going to ruin my good name with the Meme Cooperative by giving fiefcorp money to a hive boy before initiation?'
'Oh, please. You have enough money to pay them off ten times over.'
'True, true.' Figaro seemed quite satisfied with himself, and Natch wondered if he was about to dispense a few nuggets of gossip about what it was like to live a life of privilege. Parties with the lunar land tycoons, programmers catering to your every whim, teleportation on command.
But the capitalman was on a different tack. He wedged the cigar back between his molars and gave Natch a sly look. 'I'm surprised you even asked me here today,' said Fi. 'If you'd really done your homework, you would know that I like to spread my investments around. It's not like me to risk my neck for two boys from the same hive.'
Natch instantly felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. There was only one other boy at the Proud Eagle who could have possibly caught the attention of someone with Figaro Fi's clout. In his mind's eye, Natch saw the last horrible smirk Brone had given him earlier that evening. Horvil's not the only one that's going to be feelingpain. He clenched his fists behind his back until his fingernails carved bloody crescent moons into his palms.
'So why did you come here?' the boy snarled.
Figaro broke into a full-fledged smile. 'Because it amuses me, of course.'
Wild thoughts scurried through Natch's head, baring their claws with fiendish fury. If Figaro had been sitting here in the flesh, Natch might well have buried his fingers in the fat man's throat by now. He could feel the growling in his gut and summoned an antacid program, but it did nothing. The visions pranced around his mind. Brone's smug face and Adonic figure, sipping fancy wine in a lunar villa. Brone sitting at the head of a very long conference table lined with adoring apprentices. Brone laughing at Natch's expense.
'And will it amuse you if I go to the Meme Cooperative and tell them you're giving money to a hive boy?' hissed Natch. The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. He let them vent. 'Not just any hive boy-a spoiled rich one whose parents probably paid you off. Or what if I go to the drudges? CAPITALMAN ADMITS TO BRIBING MEME COOPERATIVE OFFICIALS-that sounds like a good headline for Sen Sivv Sor.'
Figaro Fi did not seem angry or surprised at Natch's sudden outburst. If anything, he became more serene, which enraged the boy even further. 'So now you're threatening me,' said the capitalman matter- of-factly.
Years later, Natch would cringe when he thought of that evening, and wonder how he had fallen for such obvious bait. But caught in the moment, he found himself hurling all his adolescent rage at the capitalman until he hardly knew what he was saying. 'It's your choice. You can invest in him and I'll turn you in to the Meme Cooperative and the Defense and Wellness Council. I'll tell the drudges. You'll be sorry you ever came here. Or you can invest in me.'
The little capitalman actually seemed to be enjoying the boy's discomfort. His face bore the look of a mischievous child poking a frog with a stick. 'All right, all right, sit down, boy,' he said abruptly. His chubby hand delivered backhanded slaps through the air in Natch's direction. 'You can keep your threats to yourself.'
'And why's that?'
'Because you have nothing on me. Yes, I already decided to give your friend funding. But I'm not foolish enough to do it before he returns from initiation.'
Natch could feel nausea swelling inside him and beating a tattoo on the inside of his skull. He wondered if this was what it felt like to throw up. In a daze, he reached for the armchair behind him and collapsed into the waiting cushion.
'The recruiters all told me about you,' said Figaro Fi, plopping his virtual feet onto an ottoman. 'Brilliant but narrow-minded, they said. Volatile. Unstable. But I just had to see it myself. Those bio/logics scores of yours were too good to ignore.
'Now here's the good news, Natch. I like you. You've got that same look in your eyes that I did forty years ago. Hungry! Vicious! Uncompromising! And by the way, much better scores than I ever got, even in economics.
'No, I haven't changed my mind. I'm not giving you a single credit from my Vault account. But I'm going to give you something even more valuable.
'I'm going to tell you why.'
The pudgy capitalman pulled his feet off the ottoman. He leaned forward intently and stuck his elbows on his knees until he had nearly curled himself up like a pill bug.
'Listen: all of us in the bio/logics industry, all the capitalmen, the programmers, the channelers, the drudges, the fiefcorpers and memecorpers and engineers and analysts ... we're slaves, Natch. We're all slaves to want.
'Want. It drives the world! It moves mountains, it swallows cultures!
'You see it, don't you, Natch? Want is everywhere. It's in people. It's in programming. In politics. In nature. The universe just won't stay still. It wants to move; even its smallest particles want to be in motion. Take bio/logics. Aren't bio/logic programs in a natural state of incompleteness? We release version 1.0 of a program, and inevitably it is imperfect. Version 1.0s want a version 2.0, don't they? They practically beg for it. You toil for months on version 2.0, and you've still barely tapped into its bottomless reservoir of want. Version 2.0 wants a version 3, version 3.0 wants a version 4, and so on and on and on and on and on-forever!'
The antacid program wasn't helping. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Natch realized he would not follow through on his implied threat to Figaro. He would not spend his last few hours at the Proud Eagle shuttling desperately between second-rate capitalmen and seeking illegal handouts. If only this interview could be over. If only I could shrivel up inside my shell like a snail and never see Figaro Fi or Brone or Vigal again.
But the capitalman continued on mercilessly. 'You ever heard that story about the Bodhisattva of Creed Objectivv and Lucco Primo? The Bodhisattva asks Primo what the key to success is. Primo says, Three things. Ability, energy, and direction. You have the ability, Natch, and you definitely have the energy-maybe more ability and energy than I've ever seen.
'But where's your direction? I don't need forty-five minutes to see you haven't got any. You have endless wants, Natch! But want without purpose destroys a person. Those who can't master their wants are loose cannons. They bring companies down. They ruin lives. They may flare brightly for a while, oh yes! But in the end, Natch, loose cannons fail. They lose money.
'Now your friend Brone-'
'Please don't call him that,' Natch croaked.
'Your friend Brone is a real sharp programmer, but I've seen better. He's got a way with people, and he's a handsome kid, which never hurts. But he's got one thing you don't. He knows exactly where he's going, and what he's doing.
