Infoquake

zipped around and placed the offending officer in a chokehold. The second guard reached for her dartgun in a panic, but it was too late. The Islander had already lifted her comrade's weapon from its sheath and aimed it squarely at her forehead. 'Ah,' he hissed savagely, 'but which one of you is going to take it away from me?'

Within seconds, officers all over the courtyard were scrambling towards them with weapons drawn. Natch had never actually faced the barrel of a Defense and Wellness Council dartgun before; now he found himself facing at least thirty of them. The fact that he was present only as a multi projection was slight comfort. It became less comforting still when Natch realized that several of the dartguns pointed at him were actually multi disruptors.

The Islander shook off the tension with a dismissive snort. He released the officer from the crook of his arm and shoved him roughly towards his companions, tossing the dartgun on the ground as an afterthought. Then he flipped his ponytail over one shoulder and parted another path in the crowd as if nothing had happened. 'Well?' he called to Natch. 'Are you coming or not?' The entrepreneur forced his knocking knees to follow. Scores of Council eyeballs watched in silence as the two walked briskly through the courtyard and into the Center for Historic Appreciation. Natch let out a loud breath of relief as soon as the doors closed behind them.

The atrium was empty of visitors, except for two Council guards standing idly against the wall discussing baseball. Neither gave Natch or the Islander so much as a glance as they threaded their way between the scientist statues and headed down one of the corridors.

'Bloody tracking devices,' muttered the Islander. 'Do they think we actually want to wear these fucking things?' He reached up with one hand and tugged at the collar as if about to fling it boomerangstyle down the hallway. Natch noticed for the first time that the collar was not actually suspended in air, but balanced on the man's neck over a fine latticework of metallic thread. The contraption looked hideously uncomfortable.

'Did you say that thing is a tracking device?' asked Natch, struggling to keep up with the Islander's giant strides.

'Of course it's a tracking device. Why else would they make them so fucking conspicuous? You can see an Islander with a collar from a kilometer away.'

Natch was usually not interested in cross-border politics. But he had to keep this strange man talking, if only so he might figure out his relation to Margaret and the Phoenix Project. 'But you need those outside the Islands,' he said. 'How else you going to survive out here without OCHREs?'

Halfway up a flight of stairs, the Islander stopped dead in his tracks. 'You've got a lot to learn about your governments, boy.' He reached into his pocket with a scowl and dug out a small disc the size of an ancient coin. 'See this little device? You can pin it to your collar, or wear it on a string around your neck. Made from spare parts, and you can see multi projections with it, interact with bio/logic code. Explain that to me.'

Natch eyed the circle with embarrassment. 'So why aren't you wearing that thing instead?'

Margaret's Islander gazed at Natch with an unspoken accusation of gullibility hovering just behind his eyes. 'Because wearing these collars is the law if you're an Islander,' he sneered. 'And if you don't obey the law, you get visits from the Defense and Wellness Council and the Prime Committee and fuck knows who else.' Then he slipped the disc back into his tunic and kept climbing the stairs.

Natch trotted alongside the big man as they crossed a covered walkway over the courtyard and into the Surina Enterprise Facility. A hoverbird bearing the Council insignia zoomed across the skyline directly in front of them. 'Where are we going?' said Natch. 'That message I got this morning ... Are you taking me to Margaret?'

'No. Margaret's locked herself in the residence, preparing for the speech. You'll see her afterwards-if there's anything left to see.'

'So what's this `performance' you need me to do? Or was that it down there in the courtyard?'

The Islander shook his head. He had led them to the end of a wide corridor and an imposing set of double doors. 'The performance is in here,' he said grimly. 'Just be yourself. Stick by me and make sure everyone sees it. Speak if you have to, but don't say anything memorable.' The doors slid open of their own accord, but not before the man thrust one hand forward and slammed it against the metal with a bang. 'And one more thing you'll need to know: my name is Quell.'

Beyond the doors was a large bowl-shaped meeting room. A lavish bouquet stood in the center of the room, underneath a revolving banner that flashed HAPPY 400TH BIRTHDAY, SHELDON SURINA over and over in ten- second intervals. About four or five dozen guests congregated in small clusters around the room, all of whom had turned their attention to the sudden and noisy arrival of Natch and Quell.

It's the whole biollogics industry, Natch thought with a quickly stifled gasp.

If it wasn't quite the entire industry, the guest list for this little reception certainly encompassed its top tier. Natch saw hated rivals and fierce competitors in every corner. Jara's old boss Lucas Sentinel was camped near the bouquet with a group of well-known channelers and capitalmen. A pasty man with a mop of black hair, Sentinel did not tower over his companions so much as sway awkwardly in their midst like a tree. The drudges Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee were holding court on opposite sides of the room. Libertarian rabblerouser Khann Frejohr sipped chaff alongside the shrewish programmer Bolliwar Tuban. Natch felt a hand clap him on his shoulder, and turned around to face Billy Sterno. 'Nice entrance, pal!' chirped the fiefcorper before scuttling off, his Chinese eyes glinting with mischief.

I need a licensee who can generate enough ripples on the Data Sea to make the Council stay its hand until I unveil the technology, Margaret had said.

I guess that's what we're doing, thought Natch. Generating ripples.

Natch and Quell began a slow stroll around the periphery of the room. The fiefcorp master put on a haughty look and did his best to forestall any conversation. For the most part, it worked. The members of the bio/logics elite seemed content to stay in their balkanized clusters and throw scandalized looks at the fiefcorp master and the Islander from afar. After ten minutes of this, however, Natch started to get restless. Everyone in the room had noticed them already, and the crowd would soon be gathering in the auditorium to await Margaret's speech.

'Okay, have we made enough of a show?' he muttered in a low voice, unsure whether an Islander could respond to a ConfidentialWhisper.

'Not yet,' replied Quell calmly. 'I want to catch one of the stragglers.'

Natch frowned. 'Stragglers?' Then he heard a violent cough behind him, and turned to see the bulldog face of Frederic Patel.

Natch did not bother with formal greetings, because he knew he would receive none from Frederic. The short, barrel-chested programmer had not inherited the slick mannerisms and sharp fashion sense that made his older brother Petrucio so popular among the drudges. If they had not inherited the same olive complexion and lithe moustache, one would be hard-pressed to identify the two Patels as brothers. But even during the worst days of their vitriolic competition, Natch had to admit that Frederic was one of the few engineers in the business whose skills stood up to Horvil's.

'Well, if it isn't the thief,' snarled Patel.

The fiefcorp master laughed scornfully. 'Watch who you're calling a thief. Looks like you've stolen your number one slot back, for a little while at least.'

'Primo's.' Frederic gave a dismissive flip of the hand, leaving Natch to wonder what else he had stolen from the Patels recently. 'A little while. What's that mean?'

'That means, sometimes history repeats itself.'

Frederic made a whistling sound with his nose that, after a moment, Natch realized was laughter. He swept his gaze to the Islander, who stared back with an impenetrable glare. Natch suddenly remembered Quell's instructions to say as little as possible, but the big man no longer seemed to care. 'You heard your boss's speech yet?' Patel said, addressing Quell.

'No,' replied the Islander.

'We're not gonna be bored to death, are we?'

'The world might be a better place if you were,' Quell said, deadpan.

Again the whistling sound. 'So that's the game you two are playing, eh?' Patel rasped. 'Well, fine with me. But now it's our move.'

The level of conversation in the room had dipped noticeably since Frederic's approach. Lucas Sentinel had wandered close and kept taking discreet peeks at the confrontation like a nervous hyena. John Ridglee was not even trying to disguise his blatant attempts to read lips.

Natch was trying to decipher Frederic's comments and formulate a response when a loud neutral tone