'Natch is still infected. The program didn't self-destruct after it knocked him unconscious. In fact, we think it was the code that woke him up.'
'Well, what does the code do? What's it waiting for?'
'We don't know. That's what we're afraid of.'
Anyone who might have suggested two weeks ago that half a billion people would be standing in the Surina auditorium awaiting a product demonstration from Natch-Natch the scoundrel, Natch the upstart, Natch the arriviste-would have been roundly denounced by the bio/logic pundits on the Data Sea who Clearly Knew Better. Now the drudges were asking themselves, if an unknown businessman could jump to the top of the hierarchy with such stunning swiftness, if one man could leapfrog generations of accepted practice and standard operating procedure, then was anything safe anymore?
High Executive Len Borda emerged from the stage door and the crowd went silent. The audience, which had just watched a second incursion of Council troops with good humor, suddenly clouded over with gloom.
The high executive marched to center stage and swept the auditorium with his piercing gaze. Half a billion onlookers waited expectantly without uttering a single word. A minute passed.
Finally, the Council chief spoke in a voice like rolling thunder. Borda's words were unhurried, untouched by focus groups, and spoken with a formality that might have been labeled pompous if the labelers did not fear having their Vault transactions scrutinized to the last decimal point by men in white robes. 'My word is the will of the Defense and Wellness Council, which was established by the Prime Committee two hundred and fifty-two years ago to ensure the security of all persons throughout the system. The word of the Council is the word of the people.'
A shudder whipped through the crowd like electricity. Those words had rarely been known to precede a happy occasion.
'Last week, thousands of lives were lost in the orbital colonies due to a new computational disturbance on the Data Sea known as an infoquake,' continued Borda gravely. 'The Council and the Prime Committee have been studying this phenomenon but have yet to draw any conclusions as to its root cause.
'The epistemological implications of this phenomenon may be uncertain, but the duty of the government remains unchanged.
'It is the solemn obligation of the Defense and Wellness Council to prevent any such disturbance from happening again. Towards that end, the Council has proposed to the Prime Committee a number of temporary measures designed to curb the risks of computational disorder. I have just been informed that the Committee has unanimously approved those measures.'
The crowd's silence was broken by a low murmur from contingents of hard-core libertarians. Even though the High Executive still followed parliamentary procedure, everyone knew that the final word belonged to Borda and Borda alone. Who could recall the last time the Prime Committee rejected one of the Council's military 'recommendations'? Remember the statues in the Center for Historic Appreciation, whispered the dissidents in the crowd. Remember that flimsy excuse they conjured up last time to advance their agenda.
'These are the strictures that the Prime Committee has enacted into law as of eight p.m. Melbourne time,' said Borda.
'Until further notice, multi attendance will be capped at 500 million persons in any one location.
'All persons assembled at tonight's event will have their access to the Data Sea severely limited.
'And in the case of an infoquake or another eruption of black code, the Council will enforce its right to shut down programs on the Data Sea at its sole discretion.'
The murmurings of unrest from the libertarians flared into full-out yells of protest. High executives had always had the ability to shut down certain programs deemed harmful to the public welfare-as long as they ran their decisions through the Prime Committee and the Congress of L-PRACGs first. But now, had the infoquake given Borda license to act unilaterally, without consultation?
A vocal element of the crowd began stomping its feet. Dire headlines appeared in drudge columns throughout the Data Sea. Chants of Borda must go echoed in one corner of the arena, until a rash of Council officers stormed in that direction and began conspicuously fingering the triggers of their multi disruptors.
Borda was unmoved. He stood and waited for the commotion to simmer down before proceeding. 'The mandate of the Defense and Wellness Council-the entire reason for its existence-is to preserve the safety of every citizen in the civilized domains, from the four corners of Earth to Luna, Mars and the furthest orbital colonies,' said the High Executive dispassionately. 'Should the infoquake be deemed a natural occurrence, then the Council will continue to take measures necessary to prevent it from happening in the future.
'But if it should be determined that the infoquake was an act of war by rogue elements of society ...'
Borda's words hung in the air for a moment.
'... then let it be known that the Defense and Wellness Council will not stand idle. Our armies are poised, on high alert, around the globe and throughout the human territories. The Council is ready to take action against any group-any group-that tries to take advantage of a sudden lapse in Data Sea integrity.
'We are prepared to act, immediately and irreversibly, without appeal or exemption.
'Whether the Council acts or not is up to you.'
Borda extended one long, bony talon from his fist and aimed it into the midst of the crowd. The audience grumbling instantly came to a halt, as 500 million people held their breath. And then, without any more formalities, the High Executive cut his multi connection and vanished.
Natch had woken up from his mysterious slumber four hours earlierwoken up alone and in one piece, lying mummylike on his own bed with no recollection of how he had gotten there. Vague and incomprehensible images hovered in his head, just beyond the reach of his irises. He could not say whether they were dreams or memories or something in between.
For advice, he had turned first to Serr Vigal, reaching his old mentor on an emergency message protocol the two had used for urgent communications since Natch's days in the hive. It had taken them less than half an hour to conclude that the black code was still active in Natch's system, and that only one man had the clout to scare off any potential attack. By the time Natch and Serr Vigal materialized in the Defense and Wellness Council's administrative offices barely three hours before the presentation, the fiefcorp master was ready to agree to almost anything that would buy some time.
So Natch had promised Len Borda access. Access to MultiReal in exchange for protection from the black code.
But what exactly did access mean? The term had come from the High Executive's mouth, not Natch's, and so he really had no way of knowing what subtle shades of meaning Borda applied to the word. How did access differ from cooperation? And did it also imply control? Did it at least fall short of the wholesale thievery that Margaret had been trying to prevent?
Or had Natch just given Len Borda the very thing Margaret Surina had been trying to keep from him for all those years?
If he had not been so pressed for time, perhaps Natch could have dickered with the Council over subtle interpretations. Once again, Margaret's words arose from the graveyard of the mind to haunt him: You find yourself capable of strange things when you run out of choices. Hadn't Natch indeed run out of choices? Anyone who would go to the trouble of assembling a strike force like the one that had ambushed him in Shenandoah certainly had the power to put together a lethal piece of black code.
Lethal black code. The implications made Natch's bones tremble. A program that could tear through his bodily defenses like rice paper and cause his OCHREs to run amok. Who could predict what would happen? A jolt of electricity into the brain? Blockage of the main arteries leading to his heart? Or perhaps something slower, more insidious, more painful?
But it wasn't cowardice that had driven him into Borda's office. I'm not a coward, Natch had insisted to himself, over and over again like a mantra. I'm not a coward. There's a lot more at stake here than my own life. The High Executive had provided all kinds of rationalizations for Natch's actions. After all, who could say what his black- robed assailants were after? Perhaps they wanted Natch to go onstage in front of 500 million people and unleash a ferocious black code attack. Perhaps they wanted to gain control of him so they could unlock access to MultiReal or kill one of his colleagues.
