31
Jara marched through the Surina Center for Historic Appreciation with her miniature fists clenched. Security guards haloed her like massive blue-green planets orbiting a small but furious star. She approached the atrium through an archway labeled Subaether Court. A score of disgruntled visitors glared at Jara when she passed, as if she were responsible for their being muscled out of the atrium.
But the fault lay with the nondescript woman in the center of the domed room gazing up at the statue of a skinny man with a large nose. He was not the largest of the scientific titans adorning the dome, but his stone effigy had an almost mythical presence. The man stood calmly with one hand extended, not offering a welcoming gesture so much as making a commanding sweep. At his feet were carved the words:
ANYTHING WORTH DOING IS WORTH PERFECTING
-Sheldon Surina
Next to the Father of Bio/Logics, Margaret Surina was a half-presence at best. She looked like she might disintegrate inside her bodhisattva's robes at any moment. Her face was solemn, even apologetic. An internal monologue flashed behind her eyes like distant lightning.
Jara could spare no time for pity. She shook herself loose from the Surina guards and stalked to the bodhisattva's side. The guards established a perimeter around the room and kept their distance. 'I've been trying to find you for almost two hours,' said Jara.
Margaret did not even acknowledge Jara's presence. 'The Texan governments tried to assassinate him,' said the bodhisattva, her gaze never leaving that of her ancestor. Even carved in stone, Sheldon Surina bore a look of self-importance. 'The public hated him for a long time too. People always forget about that. The Three Jesuses called him a devil, and the Pharisees slaughtered thousands of his supporters for sport. He came up with the idea for MindSpace sitting in a cave in the Himalayas.'
'Natch has disappeared,' said Jara.
'I know.'
The bio/logic analyst took a step back in surprise. Margaret knew? Then why hadn't she answered all the messages and Confidential Whispers Jara had been flinging her way? As one of the firm's senior partners, why hadn't she immediately called a meeting to discuss alternative plans for the presentation? Jara felt like crying at the unfairness of it all. Why does it feel like I'm the only one willing to fight for this fiefcorp? Why is it that when push comes to shove, Natch disappears, Serr Vigal prives himself to all communication, and Horvil just falls apart? And yet I'm the one who's trying to get out of this whole nightmare. I'm the one who wants to put this MultiReal shit behind me and get on with my life.
'If you want to honor Sheldon Surina's memory,' Jara said in a slow and deliberate tone of voice, 'then you'll stop feeling sorry for yourself and help us figure out an alternate course of action.'
Margaret recoiled as if she had just been slapped. 'I have no idea where Natch is. I didn't do anything to him.'
'I'm not suggesting you did. But you're the one who set this whole thing in motion.'
'Indeed?'
'Come on, Margaret! You created this fucking program, you dragged Natch and the rest of us into this business. You stood up there in front of billions of people and announced a bold new era of multiple realities. It's too late to back out now. You have a responsibility-no, an obligation-to see it through.'
'An obligation to whom? To you?' The descendent of Sheldon Surina snorted haughtily. 'I don't know you.'
'You know Natch,' said Jara. 'You know Quell.'
Margaret firmed up her jaw, looking again at the cool stone representation of her ancestor. Natch's name had produced barely a ripple on the bodhisattva's face, but mention of the Islander had obviously shaken her. 'My obligation,' she replied, 'is to him.' By him, clearly, Margaret meant the big-nosed stone statue and not anyone this side of the grave.
Jara stomped her foot and, only by sheer force of will, restrained herself from yelling at the venerable bodhisattva. Hadn't she been through this same scenario with Natch just a few weeks ago, when he all but announced his intention to frame his apprentices for that little black code scheme? Was there something inherent in the bio/logics trade that caused fiefcorp masters to lose their moral bearings? 'So after sixteen years of working on this thing, you're just going to give up ,,
'Now who's playing the victim? You're not an invalid, Jara.' Until that moment, Jara had not quite been sure the bodhisattva even knew her name. 'I'm quite certain Natch didn't hold a dartgun to your chest and force you to sign an apprenticeship contract. When you start a new business, there always are risks. You didn't think Natch and I were going to take all those risks while you sat back and watched millions of credits pour into your Vault account, did you?'
Blistering words clawed at Jara's windpipe, struggling for release. But at that moment, a Surina security guard trotted up to Margaret with a fist raised chin-level in salute. The bodhisattva gave the man a sidelong glance. Then the color drained from her face in response to some word she heard over Confidential Whisper.
'Go ahead,' rasped Margaret, stumbling towards the window with a hand clutching her stomach. 'You might as well tell her.'
The officer turned to Jara and saluted smartly. 'The Defense and Wellness Council is coming.'
'What?'
'Several hundred hoverbirds have been spotted on the outskirts of Andra Pradesh. Three or four legions of Council officers are heading this way.'
Jara felt her knees buckle, and before she knew it, she was sitting on the ground, woozy, her back leaning against Sheldon Surina's toes. Was it going to happen this easily? Just like Margaret's speech last week, Len Borda's troops were going to surge into the Surina compound and disrupt the proceedings-maybe even seize MultiReal by force-in front of the entire world.
Margaret pressed her forehead against the glass. A look of doom washed over her face. 'You see?' she cried. 'He's never going to stop, not until I'm dead and MultiReal is under his control. And what can anybody do about it? What can anybody do about it?'
Jara said nothing. Words seemed quite beside the point.
'Nothing to say? I thought so.' The bodhisattva cast a hateful glance back at Jara, reached into a gap in her robes, and drew a sleek silver dart pistol. 'Well, don't worry. The high executive is about to find out that confiscating MultiReal won't be as easy as it looks.
'The Spire!' she roared to her security detail, then stormed out the front door into the courtyard. Her cordon of guards followed close behind.
Millions of spectators had already poured into the Surina auditorium to await the first public demonstration of MultiReal. Despite Creed Conscientious' pleas, nobody seemed deterred by the prospect of another infoquake. They wanted to catch a glimpse of the infamous Natch, to see if he really deserved his reputation among the drudges. They wanted to measure Margaret Surina's accomplishments against those of her ancestors. More than anything, they just wanted to bask in the glow of history.
A carnival atmosphere swirled through the arena. Drudges and politicians of every ideological stripe wandered around broadcasting their analysis of the spectacle to their constituencies. Fiefcorp apprentices flaunted product slogans on their shirts and foreheads in vivid glow-in-the-dark colors. Creed devotees multied into the arena dressed in full creed regalia, while bodhisattvas from fringe groups stood on chairs and preached to anyone who would listen. Groups of children clustered together under the aegis of their hives, accompanied by stern-faced proctors of business, programming, politics and ethics. A few dozen L-PRACG activists multied into the auditorium stark naked and began chanting a tepid protest of Vault lending practices. One by one, they were caught in the beam of the Surina security disruptors and their multi connections cut. Council officers were nowhere to be seen.
Merri had been standing at the foot of the stage since the first thirty-five thousand spectators arrived and the auditorium began overlapping multi projections. She felt a strange sense of privilege to be here as a real body; it was quite literally a one-in-a-million opportunity. Fiefcorp apprentices living on the moon usually did not receive
