polished smooth by it. All had adapted the same ridiculous cube-haired 'do as Robby. 'The folks we're contacting are confused, Merri. They've all heard of the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp-we've got huge amounts of name recognition. And of course, after that mess with the infoquake, who hasn't heard about MultiReal by now?' Robby's channelers gave sanctimonious nods of agreement up and down the conference table.
Merri smiled. 'So is there a problem?' she asked. Of course there was a problem.
'Well, when our pollsters started asking folks if they were interested in MultiReal, almost 95 percent said yes. Great numbers across the spectrum! But when we asked people whether they thought MultiReal was something they might actually buy ... What was that number again, Friz?'
'17.3 percent,' replied Frizitz Quo, a perky Asian channeler sitting to Robby's right.
The grin on Robby's face narrowed a few microns. '17.3 percent interested in buying MultiReal. I don't need to tell ya, Merri-that's not an encouraging number! Nobody knows what this MultiReal stuff is for.'
Merri gave a rueful sigh and placed her hands palm up on the table in a gesture of sincerity. During the past few months, she had learned that body language was crucial in the channeling business. 'This is a brand-new industry, Robby,' she said. 'The sky's the limit. We've barely even started counting the possibilities.' She thought back to Quell's demonstration yesterday and tried to use deductive reasoning to figure out more practical uses for MultiReal. But as usual, her mind came up blank. 'Baseball, for one.'
'Yes, baseball.' Robby nodded slowly in an unconvincing imitation of agreement. To a pathological yes-man like Robby, the only way to express a differing opinion was to agree less vehemently. 'So that leads us to your script. This baseball thing-is Natch going to be able to do that at the demonstration? Is it possible?'
'It is,' said Merri firmly. 'I've seen it.'
Robby scratched his head as he pored over the latest draft of Jara's speech, which he had projected onto a viewscreen at one end of the table. Even with the font size bumped up to drudge-headline proportions, the entire script still fit easily within two screenlengths. Robby made a show of flipping through the presentation again, pretending to read it carefully when Merri knew he was really holding a ConfidentialWhisper conversation with his staff - and it was a heated conversation, if the worried grooves on the channelers' foreheads were any indication.
'You know, Merri, I've been working with Natch for a few years now,' said Robby. 'I know this guy pretty well. I've heard what he has to say about the Surinas and their creed babble, and it ain't pretty.'
Creed babble? Merri bristled at the slick channeler's characterization, and immediately began rallying a passionate defense of creedism inside her head. Then she imagined how the Bodhisattva of Creed Objectivv would respond-we often calla thing babble that we cannot ourselves understand, he would say with a good-natured shrug-and she simmered down.
'The point is,' Robby was saying, 'our man Natch is cynical to the core. Are you sure he's okay with this?'
'I've given you access to a whole library of detailed analysis, Robby. You've got an entire history of the Surina name, a list of the Surina clan's accomplishments and inventions, and all those stellar Primo's ratings Natch has been accumulating over the past few years. Robby, this is going to be one of the biggest technological advances the world has ever seen, and Natch wants you with us on the ground floor! Trust me, he can definitely do everything in that script.' Merri paused to take a deep breath. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so agitated.
'I'm curious, though,' Robby mused with a sly look. 'If Natch is so committed to this Surina stuff, how come he didn't show up for the meeting today?' He gestured ever so slightly towards the empty chair at the opposite end of the table.
Merri had been wondering precisely the same thing, but she was not about to tell Robby that. She felt the keen temptation to lie, to slip free from the bonds of her Objectivv oath, if only just this once. Natch had some last-minute coding to finish up. He's doing an interview with Mah Lo Vertiginous right now. He's meeting with Margaret across the courtyard in the Surina residence. Who would be the wiser?
The depths of this game had suddenly become unfathomable to Merri. Even with company allies in a private meeting, messages were being broadcast, challenges made, gauntlets thrown down. What place did Absolute Truth have in this cesspool?
Instead of lying, Merri found herself plastering a WinningGrin 44 on her face. 'Robby, you know what a perfectionist Natch is,' she said. 'How he wants everything done his way, down to the last detail. You know he's going to insist that every last connection strand is absolutely perfect before he goes out on that stage.'
Again the placating smile, the fake burst of comprehension. 'No doubt!' Robby ejaculated. 'So that just leaves us with one more topic.'
'Yes?'
'The Council.' Merri quickly tossed a PokerFace 83.4b atop the WinningGrin. 'They've been-heck, Merri, they've been harassing my boys and girls here.' He tilted his head in the direction of his 'boys and girls,' who all murmured their assent.
Suddenly, Merri felt very tired. 'What do you mean by `harassing'?'
'It's just your typical Defense and Wellness Council aggravation,' said Robby, sweeping his concerns over one shoulder with a long, bony hand. 'Requests to see our permits, people following us around, that kind of thing. Friz here got cited for `walking too close to a tube track' the other day.' Friz, the junior channeler, jutted his bottom lip forward and gave his best hangdog look. 'Nothing we can't handle, of course. But you know, if we have another one of those infoquakes ...'
Robby Robby let the sentence drift off, but Merri was all too ready to complete it. If we have another one of those infoquakes, the Council might swoop down and take MultiRealfrom us by force. The public might get frightened away from the product altogether. The drudges might start calling for Natch's head. Any way you look at it, it's entirely possible none of us will make a single credit off this crazy enterprise.
Again, Merri found herself stretching the bonds of her oath, reaching for the sweet opiate of prevarication. She adopted her most confident tone of voice and enhanced it with bio/logics. 'Robby, nobody knows what's really going to happen out there tomorrowmuch less next week or next month! Your team is going to be put on the spot, and you might have to do a lot of improvising. You'll probably have to endure a few more of those bogus citations from the Council. But Natch is utterly committed to this product. He hasn't just staked our careers on it; he's staked his own. And in the years you've known him, has Natch ever steered you wrong?'
The channeler seemed to be weighing his options for a few excruciating seconds. His eyes flickered on the black-and-white swirl of the Objectivv pin riding her left breast. Finally, Robby dispensed one of his Cheshire cat smiles. The same smile quickly rippled down the table until all two dozen channelers were wearing it. 'I gotcha, Merri,' said Robby. 'You're absolutely right. If this is what Natch wants, this is what Natch gets. We trust in Natch.'
I wish I did, Merri said to herself glumly.
Benyamin was experiencing deja vu, but it had nothing to do with any of Natch's bio/logic programs.
He was standing on the balcony overlooking his mother's assembly-line floor where he had stood for most of the past year. Two hundred workbenches lay in a grid below him. He was younger than many of the programmers, and had less coding experience than almost all of them. It felt like nothing had changed in the past few months, like he had never decided to step out from under Berilla's oppressive wing and seek a job in the fiefcorp sector.
As always, Ben listened for some undercurrent of resentment running through the staff. Were they jealous of this kid who had leapfrogged to the management office straight out of initiation? Did they resent the fact that the monthly interest on his trust fund exceeded half their salaries combined? The answer to these questions, it seemed, was still no. If there was any embittered muttering going on here, it was drowned out by the rumble caused by hundreds of clanking bio/logic programming bars. The assembly-line coders were oblivious. Too busy concentrating on tunes from the Jamm and holding Confidential Whisper conversations with distant companions.
'Thirty-one percent done,' came a smoky female voice, late forties or early fifties.
Benyamin turned to find Greth Tar Griveth, the woman who had replaced him as floor manager, walking onto the balcony from his old office. Her office now. Ben sensed that the job, which had been a whistle stop on the track to success for him, was more like a post of permanent exile for Greth. She had only been here for six weeks, but she had already adapted the vacant stare, the careless flip of the hand, the bored mid-sentence yawn that had been hallmarks of Ben's seventh and eighth months.
