To Natch, each day had a unique flavor that he could rol on his tongue like wine. Few recognized the distinctions between weekdays and weekends anymore, and n.o.body but lawyers and accountants observed the new year. But there were a few days that seemed disturbingly rancid, for reasons he couldn't discern. January 15 stood out as a particularly bad day, and the whole fol owing week tasted as bitter as ash.

"January 8," he said at length. "A week from Sunday."

More relieved sighs. Given what the fiefcorp had gone through for the last demo, eleven days felt like a century.

"It's too b.l.o.o.d.y quiet in here," came a gruff voice from the doorway. "Let's hear some more noise."

Quel strode in, his breath stinking of saffron and bay leaves. The Islander looked as if he could have curled the rest of the fiefcorp with one ma.s.sive biceps. The thin copper col ar around his neck feeding him the sights and sounds of the virtual world seemed more uncomfortable than ever.

"You're missing al the excitement," said Horvil to his fel ow engineer. "It's demo time again."

"Fun," said the Islander, voice doused with sarcasm. "I can't wait." He walked over to Natch and enacted his peculiar Islander custom of clasping hands and shaking.

Natch stood before the window for a moment with his hands behind his back. Staring.

"No, not a demo," he said. "An exposition."

Benyamin let out a skeptical phfft. "What's the difference?"

"A demo is a preview. An exposition is a celebration." The fiefcorp master's statement was greeted by a confused silence. He stepped back and spread his arms toward the window as if unveiling a marquee. "Picture this: a field of gra.s.s, a huge crowd. Two teams playing basebal , every single player using MultiReal."

Horvil gazed unblinkingly at the window. "Where are you going to get the other team?"

he said. "You wanna invite the Patel Brothers?"

"No. We pick them at random. We pick al the players at random, both teams."

"We could hold some kind of public lottery," said Merri, her eyes glinting. "Then we could announce the winners at a big publicity event."

"I think this could work," put in Quel , rubbing his chin with his bear's paw. "Instead of holding MultiReal up on a stage, we give the audience a taste of it. So they'l know what it's real y like to use the program. Makes it that much harder for Borda to take away."

"Aren't we beating this basebal thing to death?" said Jara. "People are going to think the only thing MultiReal's good for is. .h.i.tting home runs."

Natch, unconcerned: "Then let's make it soccer. Or jai alai. Doesn't matter." He turned to face the rest of the fiefcorp and straightened his spine like a dril sergeant. "Listen, I know it feels like we have eons to put this together. But we've used up the element of novelty. People have been talking nonstop about MultiReal for a month now, and we can't just repeat what we did last time."

The a.n.a.lyst flipped dark curls of hair from her eyes, the better to face down a looming chal enge. "I'm up to the task," she said. "But it's not me you have to worry about. Most of this is going to fal on Horvil's shoulders."

"Me and Quel , we've been pounding out al kinds of changes to the code in Minds.p.a.ce,"

said the engineer with an insouciant air. "Possibilities is humming. It's like we turned some kind of corner. But stil doesn't mean it's gonna be easy. We have a lot of loose ends to tie up before we can sic this thing on five hundred mil ion people again."

Natch: "So can you get the job done?"

Horvil's voice did not leak the smal est droplet of doubt. "Yeah, we'l get it done," he said.

Quel gave a reinforcing nod of confidence. "Provided that Ben's a.s.sembly-line goons do their job."

"No worries," said Benyamin. "Greth Tar Griveth has the programming floor standing on notice."

"And I'l start working the sales channels with Robby Robby," put in Merri, standing up and brushing off her blouse.

Serr Vigal sat on the sofa, beaming quietly. His role in the fiefcorp was strictly an advisory one, but no one doubted that he would make himself available as needed.

Natch's pacing slowed as he surveyed the group arrayed before him. He could scarcely believe that a month ago, the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp had been fumbling, awkward, and ready to quit. Now they had caught the same intoxicating scent of victory that Natch had been fol owing since his first meeting with Margaret Surina. This was no hodgepodge of runners-up and also-rans Natch had a.s.sembled; this was a first-rate team.

The entrepreneur tried to conjure some words of inspiration, but for some reason the linguistic centers of his brain felt tangled and knotted. "Al right,"

said the fiefcorp master, twirling one hand in the air. "Let's get to work."

8.

Jara pledged to waste no more time with Geronimo until the MultiReal exposition was over, at the earliest. There was too much to do. But she might as wel have spent the next morning dabbling on the Sigh, for al she accomplished.

She began the day arguing with Merri over details of the MultiReal exposition. They agreed to have the lottery winners play soccer instead of basebal , but Merri insisted there should be twenty-three lottery winners instead of twenty-two.

"That's uneven," Jara complained. "Somebody's going to get an extra player."

"Yes, but think of the symbolism," said Merri. "One for each member of the Prime Committee. We could even choose one player from each Committee bailiwick."

Jara summoned a holographic bar chart that displayed the Committee bailiwicks in bright blues and purples. Across the Atlantic, Merri's window would be showing the same thing. "That means putting a bunch of central government employees on the field," she protested. Jara pointed to the column labeled MEME COOPERATIVE (3) and set it aglow. "Do you real y want three Meme Cooperative officials nosing around backstage at our exposition?"

"That could be part of the gimmick. It's perfect, Jara! The Congress of L-PRACGs has twelve seats on the Committee, right? And al the other government and business interests put together have eleven. We can bil the game as 'the people versus the government."'

"And the extra player?"

"I don't know. Maybe we can just rotate goalies. We'l figure something out."

But Jara was skeptical, and they decided to put off making any decisions until they had spoken with Natch at the afternoon fiefcorp meeting. This sounds like one of his ideas, thought the a.n.a.lyst. He'l definitely take Merri's side, and that's just going to cause trouble.

Frustrated, stil itching with unscratchable desire, Jara decided to cut the conversation short and step out of her apartment for a change. Her next-door neighbors blinked in surprise when she pa.s.sed them in the hal way, having given her up for dead weeks ago.

Jara emerged from the tenement into a glum, drizzly London afternoon. So much for modern technology, she thought. For thousands of years, the British Isles had been under the capricious grip of nature, and London had constantly wal owed in rain. Now, after two centuries of unparal eled technological progress, the weather was determined by the Environmental Control Board, the regional L-PRACGs, and a patchwork of smal er agenciesand stil the city wal owed in rain.

The fiefcorp a.n.a.lyst made her way north, where the cobblestone turned to splotchy asphalt. She pa.s.sed the farmers' market and the basebal stadium.

Twenty minutes later, she found her destination: a smal nitro bar nestled among the shops of New Downing. A familiar site, part haven and part hideaway.

Jara could practical y feel the warm nitro lathering her tongue as she walked in the door.

But as soon as she made it inside, she stopped short. The man standing in her path may have been wearing a loose green caftan instead of a white robe and yel ow star, yet there was no mistaking Magan Kai Lee.

Jara could feel her animal instincts kick in. She made a quick pirouette, looking for the glint of Council dartguns, but al she could see was the quotidian a.s.sortment of nitro junkies and chintz-patterned sofas.

Jara had watched the video of Magan's failed raid on Natch's apart ment at least a dozen times. She had gotten used to seeing him as a startled animal buffeted by a hailstorm of drudge questions. Now, standing in the nitro bar, the lieutenant executive was serene and confident, like a man who was either armed to the teeth or twice as large as everyone else in the room. But Magan bore no weapon that Jara could see, and even she topped his slight frame by a few centimeters.

"Towards Perfection, Jara," said Magan.

The a.n.a.lyst scowled. "What the f.u.c.k do you want?"

"Just to talk," said the lieutenant, sweeping one hand toward the side door with a magnanimous gesture.

Jara regarded the doorway with suspicion. "Talk," she said. "Right. How do I know you're not going to plug me with black code out there?"

The corners of Magan's lips rose a mil imeter or two. A smile. "Surely if I can plug you with black code out there," he said, "I could do it in here just as easily."

Jara sighed, acknowledging the point. She had a pa.s.sing familiarity with the waitstaff here, but she couldn't imagine any of them sticking their necks out for her. The initial shock of seeing Magan was wearing off, and she knew she needed to get out of there, fast. Run, you fool, she told herself. Contact your L-PRACG security. Send a ConfidentialWhisper to Natch. Go.

But she did none of these things. Instead, she fol owed Magan out the side door.

There was no sudden barrage of black code darts, no ambush, nothing but the London drizzle. Jara exhaled in relief as Magan Kai Lee led her around the back of the building to a partial y roofed courtyard decked with wrought-iron tables and chairs. The a.n.a.lyst had spent many weary afternoons out here nursing a chaff or nitro with her loose circle of friends. But now, whether because of the rain or the Defense and Wel ness Council, the courtyard was empty. Magan took a seat at an una.s.suming table set with a pair of steaming nitro mugs.

Jara fol owed suit.

"Al right, so here we are," said the a.n.a.lyst. "Now what do you want?"

"I want to introduce you to some people," said Magan simply.

"What people?"

"The people who have been fol owing Natch around and scouring your fiefcorp's records."

Jara could feel her shoulder blades clench and her jaw tighten, the primitive reflexes of fear and flight. She quickly activated a pair of bio/logic programs to soothe her nerves as a line of Defense and Wel ness Council officers marched into the courtyard from the al eyway. There were thirteen in al , each bearing a demeanor that could only be described as nonchalant.

"Al ow me to introduce you to Commanders Papizon and Ridgel o," said Magan. He indicated a tal flamingo of a man whose eyes did not quite line up, and a hulking blond mercenary who might even be a match for Quel in hand-to-hand combat. "Papizon and Ridgel o are in charge of the security detail that has been fol owing Natch's every move for the past forty-eight hours."

Papizon bowed awkwardly in Jara's direction, as if performing the act for the first time.

Ridgel o made an obscure gesture with one hand, causing seven more phantoms to step out of the shadows. Two or three looked vaguely familiar, faces Jara had seen in pa.s.sing in Shenandoah and not given a second thought. Ridgel o waited for her to get a good, long look. Then he signaled again, and the spooks melted back into the mist.

Jara reached somewhere deep inside herself for a bravado she did not feel. She tilted her head at the remaining Council officers. "So I guess these idiots must be the ones scouring the fiefcorp records," she said.

A lithe woman with dark mahogany skin stepped forward in response and gave a perfunctory bow. "You might recognize the woman I have put in charge of this team," said Lieutenant Executive Lee.

Jara let out a gasp before she could stop herself. "The Blade."

"See, Magan, she does fol ow the Council drudge gossip," said Rey Gonerev, seeming wel pleased. Her voice was a wasp's sting. "It's an honor to final y meet you, Jara. I've read so much about you in the Council files that I feel like I know you ... intimately." The slant on the word was unmistakable.

Jara felt a flush rising from her toes and diffusing across her entire body. She had heard rumors about sketchy channels on the Sigh sel ing customer data, but never quite believed them. How much did the Council know? And how much had they seen? There was nothing il egal about her frolics with Geronimo, of course, but the fact that someone might actual y know about them felt as intrusive as any molestation.

Magan made a disdainful frown, clearly signaling to the Blade that she had crossed the line. Whether he was genuinely irritated, or if this was just part of their good cop/bad cop routine, Jara couldn't tel .

Rey Gonerev was just getting started. She marched up and down the row of Council officers, introducing each in turn. More than one seemed to be quivering slightly at the Blade's presence, or Magan's, or both. "Clarissa here has been itemizing every Vault credit Natch has spent over the last ten years," said Gonerev. "Refaru Gil Motivan is col ecting every word he's ever spoken in public and every sc.r.a.p of text he's ever posted on the Data Sea.

Wil iam Teg has been keeping tabs on Serr Vigal, while Larakolia is in charge of a.n.a.lyzing your company's programs...."

The flush in Jara's skin quickly turned to nausea. Police intimidation: it was a ritual as old as time, invented by the ancients with their primitive firearms and consecrated in a mil ion crime dramas ever since. Jara felt like she could recite every line before it was uttered, but the familiarity did not stop her knees from shaking.

She didn't even hear what nefarious deeds the last few were up to. "Why are you showing me this?" she said quietly when the Council solicitor had finished her little presentation. "Am I supposed to be scared that you're fol owing Natch around? Don't you think he already knows that?"

Magan gave the row of officers an almost imperceptible nod. One by one, the team disintegrated into the multivoid until just four members of the Council remained-Papizon, Ridgel o, Rey Gonerev, and Magan Kai Lee.

"I'm showing you this to deliver a message," said Magan. His demeanor was almost polite, his hands folded on the table like an ordinary plebeian at teatime. "MultiReal is the Defense and Wel ness Council's top priority. As long as Natch refuses to cooperate with us, the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp is my top priority."

"I don't understand why you're ha.s.sling us," Jara said, pinching her temples in an effort to stanch the ache. "You want access to MultiReal? Go talk to Frederic and Petrucio Patel. I'm sure they'd be happy to sel you al the access you need."

Magan shook his head. "You know that the Patel Brothers are only licensees, Jara.

Limited access. I suppose we could learn a lot from someone with master engineering privileges, like your friend Horvil. But what good would that do when Natch could lock us out of the program without notice? No, I'm afraid only Natch and Margaret Surina can give us what we need."

"Listen, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but Natch is more than capable of st-"

"No," said Magan, cutting her off without raising his voice. "Don't be naive. Your fiefcorp master is canny and resourceful-I'l give him that. He caught us off guard the other day. But there are only seven of you. The Defense and Wel ness Council has mil ions of officers at our beck and cal . We have unlimited resources. We wil bury Natch. "

"And those foolish enough to stand with him," added Gonerev. Unlike Magan, she appeared to be enjoying herself.

Again the slight disapproving grimace from the lieutenant executive. "Len Borda's agents are tailing Natch day and night," he said. "We are exploring every transaction your fiefcorp has ever done, every piece of code you've ever launched onto the Data Sea. This MultiReal exposition you are so diligently preparing for wil not happen."

The a.n.a.lyst slouched down in her chair, wishing she could slip between the cracks and disappear unnoticed. After everything Magan had revealed, why should it be a surprise that the Council knew about the MultiReal exposition? But it hadn't even been twenty-four hours since Natch came up with the idea, and as far as Jara knew, n.o.body had said a word about it to anyone outside the fiefcorp yet.

Jara looked to the steaming mugs on the table for relief. The drizzle had found its way under the awning to the side of her face, but it hadn't done much damage to the nitro yet. She reached for the closer mug and took a quick gulp, hoping that her beverage wasn't poisoned. They ordered my nitro just the way I like it, Jara thought with a shudder. Extra dark, extra bitters.

The Blade came close and crouched down until she was almost whispering in Jara's ear.

Jara could have gotten lost in those long braids of ebony hair. "You don't think Natch is the only one Papizon and Ridgel o are fol owing, do you?"

said Gonerev.

Commander Papizon merely stood there, squinting at the rain. Ridgel o might have been a carven effigy.

She knew from watching the dramas that this was the point when she was supposed to crack. But somehow the thought of Council goons tailing her on the street helped Jara ral y her courage. "This little act of yours is getting old,"

snapped the a.n.a.lyst. "If you were real y so confident you could bury Natch, you wouldn't be sitting here playing these little games. You'd just go ahead and do it."

Again the insignificant raising of the lips on Magan's face. "And if you were so confident in Natch, you wouldn't be sitting here listening to us."

Jara said nothing. Rey Gonerev retreated to stand beside Papizon, her task done.

Magan rose from his seat and turned in profile to face the advancing clouds. Jara knew that even a lieutenant executive of the Defense and Wel ness Council was not exempt from the dictates of the weather, but he seemed strangely untouched by the rain.

"What do you want from me?" asked Jara.

"I've studied your record very careful y," said the Council lieutenant. "I've seen the people you've worked for over the years; I've seen the quality and integrity of your work. You can't possibly be pleased with the direction Natch is steering this fiefcorp. Dirty tricks, sabotage, rumor, innuendo-this isn't you, Jara. I know what you real y want: you want out of this miserable apprenticeship. You want to wipe the slate clean and strike out on your own.