Somewhere between the office door and the front atrium, Natch changed from cunning wolf to savage coyote. He strode through the hal way with head tilted forward like a battering ram as Jara struggled to keep up. He nearly ran over an old woman wearing the royal purple of Creed Elan and didn't react at al when a household domestic attempted to scold him for it.

They pa.s.sed bedrooms, anterooms, and entertaining rooms beyond count, intersecting hal ways that led to other wings of the house, puzzled servants, a multi chamber that could easily hold ten. Purple and red leapt out from every surface.

"So what's this going to accomplish?" asked the a.n.a.lyst.

"It's going to get Beril a off our backs," replied Natch.

"Is she on our backs? Beril a hasn't real y bothered us since we arrived. I don't think she even knows you're here."

"She wil ."

Jara decided to just shut up and tag along for the ride. Natch knew what he was doing, didn't he? He always knew what he was doing, whereas Jara had never real y done anything but flounder from circ.u.mstance to circ.u.mstance. She resolved to be patient. If Natch needed her a.s.sistance, he would let her know.

The hal way final y ended with a regal set of double doors that any member of the peerage would be proud to sit behind. Natch made no move to knock or announce himself first; instead, he firmly gripped the doors' bra.s.s handles and yanked.

"What on Earth ..." came a high-pitched voice. The entrepreneur stepped through the doors, and the voice suddenly halted.

Beril a sat at a mahogany desk in the center of a cavernous room. Strange bric-a-brac cluttered the wal s: beam and gunpowder weapons dating back to the Autonomous Revolt. The dedication plaque from an old hoverbird that had been decommissioned decades ago. An ancient replica of an even more ancient dartboard. A painting of a fox hunt being executed by pale white G.o.dlings in stiff tweed. Jara absorbed al this in awe, wondering what was authentic and what just clever mimicry.

The woman at the desk actual y bore a much closer resemblance to her nephew Horvil than to her son. The same olive complexion and ebony hair, the same pear-shaped figure. But where Horvil's face had a permanent smile buried beneath his jowls, Beril a's face seemed to be entombed in a state of permanent disapproval.

"I see your manners haven't changed," Beril a sighed to Natch. She flipped her hand to extinguish a row of memos floating over the desk.

"Neither has your house," replied Natch without losing a beat. He took a seat unbidden in one of the sequined straight-backed chairs facing Beril a's desk. "You've kept the place just the way Wel ington left it. Or was that Cromwel ?"

"Are those supposed to be insults?" said Beril a, eyes drooping ponderously.

Natch shrugged.

Family matriarch and entrepreneur held a duel of blistering stares for over a minute without speaking. Jara wondered if she should bow and introduce herself, but since Beril a seemed to have no interest in her, she simply took the other chair and crossed her legs. The only sound in the room was the low tick-tock emanating from the rococo clock on the desk.

Beril a grew tired of their mental tug-of-war first. "So you've rudely pushed your way into my house without an invitation," she said final y. "I don't know how you managed to sneak past the household security and al those people out there, but I suppose it must be important. So what can I do for you, Natch?"

The entrepreneur touched his fingertips together in front of his face. "You can tel me why you halted production on my a.s.sembly line," he said.

"You mean my a.s.sembly line."

"Whatever. I paid good money for a programming floor. I expect to see results."

Jara tried to send Natch a Confidential Whisper, but he would not accept her requests.

"They don't have access to the program anymore," she interjected, keeping her voice as low as possible. "We cut them off a few hours ago."

Beril a completely ignored her. "I didn't 'halt' anything, Natch. I simply instructed my people to work backward. The new floor supervisor was given strict orders to rol back every single connection we've made to your code. But don't worry-you'l be reimbursed for every credit you've spent, with interest. My accountants keep meticulous records."

"I don't give a f.u.c.k about the money. I care about the programming."

A part of Beril a was clearly hopping with joy. "Suit yourself."

Natch clawed at the arms of his chair as if psyching himself up to rip it to pieces. He worked at one for a moment, muscles knotted with exertion.

"Don't you realize that anything you do to hurt me hurts Horvil and Ben too?" he said.

"I don't see it that way at al ." The matriarch leaned back and crossed one ham-sized thigh over the other. If she minded Natch's mauling of her chair, she did not show it. "You're the one who's hurting Horvil and Benyamin. Every mistake you make puts them that much closer to giving up this ridiculous game of theirs." Beril a's frown deepened. "Playing at fiefcorps like children playing with toy soldiers. It's ridiculous."

Jara tried once more to insert herself into the conversation. "That's not fair," she said.

"n.o.body's forcing anyone to work for this fiefcorp. Horvil and Ben are adults. They understand the risks."

This caught Beril a's attention. She turned that froglike face toward the a.n.a.lyst. "Do they?"

"Of course they do," said Natch icily. "They're not risking anything that I'm not wil ing to risk myself."

The matriarch gave an exaggerated blink of amus.e.m.e.nt. "I don't know why I even bother arguing with you, Natch," she said. "You're risking-what exactly is it that you're risking? Your family? Your inheritance? Your ties to the community? No. You have none of these things. Excuse me for being so blunt, Natch-but you have nothing to lose. Horvil and Benyamin do.

"What does your business offer them?" she continued, steamrol ing right over Jara's nascent protest. "Money? They have money. Prestige?

Experience? Exposure? They can get al that working for Marulana at Creed Elan. They can get that working for me. They can get that working for tens of thousands of businesses out there that don't treat them like-like raw meat." She sat back, clearly satisfied with herself, and started straightening the desktop paraphernalia that didn't real y need straightening: an antique letter opener, a quil pen jutting out of some hideous pot of ink, a plastic egg that looked like some kind of ancient computer appendage.

Natch kept robotical y stil during Beril a's little diatribe. "You don't understand," he rasped. "What you're offering them are jobs. What I'm offering them is a chance to change the world."

"I understand more than you think," scoffed Beril a, looking suddenly old and tired.

"MultiReal might change the world-but do you know what you're changing it to?"

In response, the entrepreneur rose again and strode to the center of the faux bearskin rug that covered most of the floor. His face was sul en and pensive. "What," he said slowly, "do you want?"

Jara felt like she should ask Natch that question himself. She was starting to grow restless with this little meeting. What the fiefcorp had to gain by haranguing Beril a-and why Jara should be a part of it-she couldn't fathom.

Beril a let out a high-pitched cackle that ricocheted up the wal s to the distant ceiling.

"What do I want? What do I want? Natch, are you listening to anything I'm saying? Look around you! I already have everything I could possibly want.

My main concern is making sure n.o.body throws it al away."

The entrepreneur stewed in place for a moment with his eyes wandering up and down the wal of knickknacks. His hands clenched and unclenched behind his back. "Everybody wants something, or they'd have no reason to get out of bed in the morning," said Natch after a moment. "Even you. You want stability. You want protection. For yourself and for your family."

Beril a let out a loud sigh. "What's your point?"

"My point is this: If anything were to happen to Horvil and Benyamin, you would be quite upset."

Jara could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach. She raised her hand and dropped it, unsure of what to say. Was Natch actual y threatening his own apprentices? The matriarch's brow furrowed, and her chin rocked slowly back and forth as she caught the distress in the a.n.a.lyst's face.

And it was in that moment that Jara understood why she was here. What she had mistaken for desperate emotion on the entrepreneur's part was just a careful y ch.o.r.eographed act. Of course it was a careful y ch.o.r.eographed act-wasn't it always? But not only had Natch scripted his own part to the letter, he had scripted Jara's as wel . He had specifical y brought Jara to this meeting because he knew she would recoil from his suggestion. The fearful look in her eyes would prove to Beril a that Natch was serious. That he was perfectly capable of committing ruthless deeds.

"I don't see what you're insinuating," said Beril a, growing more disturbed by the second.

"Don't try to scare me into thinking you'd actual y hurt them.

You don't have it in you."

"Hurt?" Natch smiled. "Who said anything about hurting anyone?" He began a slow walk around the bearskin rug, arms folded across his chest. "Let's not be melodramatic, Beril a. We're talking about protection here protection from the Defense and Wel ness Council." He came to a stop directly in front of the woman and laid his palms flat on the desktop. Jara could see a debate in Beril a's mind about whether to cal household security. "The Council already found enough evidence to get Horvil's and Ben's business licenses suspended. But if they found out what your son and your nephew were real y doing for me ... Wel , they wouldn't stop at just a fine or a suspension. Oh, no. They'd haul Ben and Horvil off to an orbital prison. A Council orbital prison."

A muddy speck of doubt clouded the icy green of Beril a's eyes. "This is absurd," she said. "You don't have anything on Horvil and Benyamin. Even you couldn't have that bad of an influence on them."

"No?" Natch gave the slightest of nods toward the window, causing the placid British gardens to be replaced by the blocky letters of a memo. Jara squinted to read the type and then gasped.

It was an anonymous message addressed directly to the Defense and Wel ness Council.

But this was much more than just a message; it was practical y a confession. A lengthy list of al the il egal and unethical actions that Horvil and Benyamin had partic.i.p.ated in during their apprenticeships to Natch. Ben's list had to be grossly exaggerated, considering he had only been with the fiefcorp for a few weeks now. But Horvil's list appeared to be spoton. Jara recognized everything from the engineer's ruses that had helped the company steal customers from Captain Bolbund to his role in the black code scare that al owed them to conquer Primo's. There were also a number of accusations Jara didn't recognize, accusations that explained inconsistencies that had been nagging her for years. How had the fiefcorp staved off Prosteev Serly's a.s.sault on their optical programs? Why had Lucas Sentinel failed to bid on a certain lucrative L-PRACG contract? Jara now knew.

Whether anything on this list was actual y enough to convict Horvil and Ben of a crime was uncertain. But it didn't real y matter. If this memo found its way into a drudge's hands, it would have a much greater effect on Horvil's and Ben's careers than any Meme Cooperative hand slapping.

Beril a read through the memo with mounting agitation and not a little sadness. A trickle of sweat worked its way down her neck. "Horvil's stood by you since you were a little boy," she protested. "He fol ows you around like a puppy, Natch.

He lends you money. Have you real y sunk that low?"

"Only the one prepared to sacrifice anything can achieve everything," said Natch, quoting Kordez Tha.s.sel. "You said it yourself-I real y have nothing to lose, do I? I might already be heading for a Council prison."

"But-but-"

"What can you do to stop me from sending out this memo? I'l tel you what you're going to do." The entrepreneur found his way back to the straightbacked chair and sat on it like a king taking his throne. "You're going to start production on that a.s.sembly-line floor again. You're going to undo every f.u.c.king change your team made to the MultiReal code. And then you're going to finish the job you started. In fact, you're going to put the entire floor on the project so they finish faster. And if I see the slightest bit of evidence you're holding out on me, Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee are going to see this memo within the hour. Do you understand me now?"

Time shuddered to a halt. For a moment, Jara found herself admiring the deviousness, the sheer audacity, of Natch's plan. It was the ultimate bluff: mutual y a.s.sured career destruction. If Natch went down in ignominy, then his apprentices would go down with him. Or at least so Beril a was supposed to believe. He wouldn't actual y do something so Machiavel ian, would he?

Then Jara caught a glimpse of Natch's face, and she realized that he was utterly serious.

He would sacrifice Horvil and Benyamin's careers-and quite possibly their liberty-to get what he wanted. And the prize if he succeeded: a top-notch a.s.sembly-line shop at his command, ready to final y complete the MultiReal coding. No smal thing, considering that there was no other shop that would defy the Council's blacklist. If Beril a put the entire floor on the job, they might even get the job done in time for the MultiReal exposition.

So Natch was now using blatant threats to get his way. But why al ow Jara to hear them, unless he was implicitly threatening her career too?

She could see the scene unfolding in her mind. Jara would sit quietly through the rest of the meeting and confront him later in private. Natch would blow her off at first, then final y capitulate. Of course I wouldn't have real y sent out that memo, he would say, touching her shoulder to short-circuit her logical processes. Of course I was bluffing. But it was a bluff you needed to see. I needed to gauge your determination to deal with the hard realities of running a fie/corp. You have to be prepared to do these kinds of things, Jara-and I don't think you are.

But the worst part was not Natch's cal ousness or his scheming nature; it was not the fact that he was manipulating her. Those things were givens. The worst part was that Natch already knew she would capitulate. She would fret and she would yel , but in the end she would accept his explanations and do nothing to intervene. Not only that, but she would actual y a.s.sist him in perpetrating his plots, and she would make excuses for him to Horvil and Ben.

Wasn't that what she always did? Jara had unwittingly acted out that scene too many times to count.

Natch had reduced Jara to her essence, and that essence was cowardice.

As she sat there in Beril a's office, half a decade of seductive touches and gruff admonitions abruptly came together to form a sinister picture in her mind. How could she have believed that Natch was starting to respect her? On the contrary, Jara had become nothing more than a cra.s.s calculation to him. So confident was Natch of his dominance that he could rely on her to ignore his threats to Horvil and Ben. He could hand over core access to MultiReal without worrying that she would betray him. He could depend on her to simply submit to his whimseven when Jara would suffer for them.

Jara rose from her seat, veins throbbing with fury at Natch, at herself.

"I've had enough of this," said the a.n.a.lyst. She waved her hand at the window and banished the display into digital limbo. "You're not going to send that memo anywhere."

Beril a snapped her head around as if noticing Jara's presence for the first time. Natch plastered a creepy grin on his face, but it had the look of an artificial emotion constructed with bio/logic programming. He fired a ConfidentialWhisper in her direction; now it was her turn to ignore his requests.

"Jara," said the entrepreneur, standing up straight and slipping into salesman mode. "Why don't-"

"No," she interrupted. "Don't start. You real y think I'm going to sit here and listen to you make threats against your own apprentices? Against Horvil, after al he's done for you?"

"Why don't we talk about this back in-"

"No, we'l talk about it now. You want threats? I'l give you threats. You don't have anything on us that we don't have on you. Erase that memo, or I give the drudges a ful report of al your dirty tricks."

The entrepreneur smirked. "Didn't the Blade already do that?" More Confidential Whisper requests, more denials.

Jara knew her bravado would not last long. Already she could see Natch reconfiguring his strategy, adjusting to circ.u.mstances. She needed to end this quickly and decisively. Jara felt a bluff of her own come bubbling to the front of her consciousness. "Erase that memo, or I'l end this whole thing right here and now. You know I'm sick of this whole business. I'l give Magan Kai Lee what he wants. I'l give him core access to MultiReal. I'm sure he'l pay handsomely for it."

Al at once, Natch's careful y polished veneer shattered. He stormed to the far side of the room, his face caught up in a snarl. "You think you know how to run a business, Jara? You think you can stand up to the Council? Open your eyes!" He flailed his hands around in the air as if he might smash one of Beril a's precious artifacts at any moment. "You're going to give them core access to MultiReal? That's exactly what Magan Kai Lee wants! That's exactly why he put you in this position-so the Defense and Wel ness Council can plow right through you and take MultiReal away. Can't you see anything? Are you f.u.c.king blind?"

Jara did not flinch. "You're not running this fiefcorp any longer," she said, careful y enunciating each syl able. "I am. And I'm not going to let you drive it into the ground. I'm not going to let you trash five years of my life on some meaningless crusade." She took a deep breath. "The arrangement is off. Get the f.u.c.k out of here. We don't want you here anymore."

Beril a's jaw gaped open as she recoiled in her seat. Her hand grasped the ink pen as if its quil were a magical talisman of protection.

Natch paced frenetical y around the room in an ever-tightening spiral. "Useless!" he cried out of nowhere. He turned and jabbed a finger at the doorway and the fiefcorpers somewhere down the hal . "You're useless. You're al useless.

I knew I shouldn't have bothered to come here. I won't let you hand my business over to the Council. They won't take MultiReal away from me.

Margaret chose me. Me. She said I'm the guardian and the keeper. So do whatever you want. I don't care. From now on, I'm doing what I have to do, and I'm doing it alone."

Then Natch whirled on his heels and strode back out the double doors. The sound of some fragile knickknack shattering echoed through the west wing of the house, and then he was gone.

Vigal, Merri, and Benyamin were already seated at the provisional conference table in the parlor when Horvil arrived. Their faces were frozen in various stages of distraction and worry.

And who could blame them? They were holed up in a London estate, while outside infoquakes raged and the public angrily clamored to know who had kil ed Margaret Surina. There were articles from know-nothing pundits al over the Data Sea fulminating about Natch's culpability, his lack of ethics, his inherent sliminess. n.o.body had anything to offer except vague conjecture, yet they al seemed quite certain of their opinions.

The drudges had even come up with something of a communal narrative to explain the circ.u.mstances behind the murder. According to this narrative, Quel had gotten in a big argument with Margaretabout what, n.o.body could say. This argument had left him vulnerable to Natch's job solicitations and offers for revenge. Natch had hired Quel away for his insider knowledge of the Surina operation, arranged a hostile takeover, and then brainwashed the Islander into murdering Margaret when the deal went sour.

Horvil wondered when the drudges would figure out that Natch was responsible for the Autonomous Revolt and the death of Henry Osterman too.

Unfortunately, the Data Sea was ful of persuasive, if anecdotal, evidence. There was a video that showed Quel being dragged away by Council officers. There was the complaint by the Meme Cooperative. Jayze Surina had leaked the fact that Natch might have been the last person to see Margaret alive. On top of al this, Creed Surina had announced a big public funeral for Margaret next week at Andra Pradesh. Whether such a spectacle would tamp down the flames of innuendo or fan them to new heights was anyone's guess.

Jara arrived at that moment, looking pale and angry. Her fists were clenched. Horvil, Merri, Vigal, and Benyamin stared at her without saying a thing.

"We've got to move in a new direction," announced the a.n.a.lyst. "Natch has been trying the same thing in this fiefcorp for-what? Four, five years now.

Stirring up chaos. Pushing toward something that's always right over the next hil . Wel , I'm sick of it."

Only Benyamin had the gumption to ask the obvious question. "So what does Natch think?"

Jara gathered up her courage and then looked the apprentice squarely in the eye. "Natch is gone. For good. I kicked him out."

Serr Vigal nearly fel off his chair in shock. Horvil tried to hold back his gaping stare, but failed miserably. In his peripheral vision, he could see Ben and Merri grip the table as if waiting for a hurricane to pa.s.s through.

"What happened?" said Merri in a timorous voice.

Jara pointedly ignored the question. "Listen, the Council's in disarray right now, with Margaret's death and the infoquakes and the public uproar. Those drudges wil stay out there for a while in hopes of catching a glimpse of Natch. In the meantime, we'l have a few days to gather our wits. The Surinas are holding a funeral for Margaret next week. We'l have at least until then, maybe even a few days after that.