SHARDS.

BOOK 01.

Peter W Prellwitz.

Prologue.

"CDPF68A78 coded access."

"Access code approved. Good morning, Mr. Wyeth. Please continue with voice print verification." The computer voice reminded me of one of those holochannel hucksters, the ones who talked to you and millions of others as though you were a long lost brother. It had a rich sincerity that only the seedier salesmen could fake.

"Voice print verify. Wyeth, John. Alpha Three Three Two Voice Set."

"Voice print verification ... please stand by, Mr. Wyeth," it said pleasantly, yet somehow implying in its tone that I'd find myself living at the bottom of a deep, dark hole if I wasn't who I said I was. I waited as the recording of my voice was matched against a previous one. Five seconds later the heavy bolts magnetically released with a hollow thud, and I was in.

Larry Alexander, the security guard, sat at his desk, his gun aimed at me in a very offhanded way. Procedure dictated that only one person was allowed in at a time, and standing orders were to shoot anyone who hadn't used voice verification. Incredibly, it had happened once. A couple of workers, who for some unknown reason had disregarded the constant warnings, lectures and protocol meetings, decided to see whether Larry really would shoot the unverified one, even though he knew both. They didn't think he would. We almost never hired idiots, wisdom being prized even higher than intelligence, but occasionally one got through.

They were right, though; Larry didn't shoot. It turned out that Larry's just a target for hostile intruders. The actual guard was located in one of three hidden vantage points. He was the one who shot, killing the second idiot. Now everybody entered one at a time.

I approached Larry and waved. "Morning, Larry! How's NATech's number one sitting duck?"

For someone who was paid essentially to greet people and stop bullets, Larry seemed very firmly grounded. He laughed, his ruddy, slightly wrinkled face breaking into a big grin. "Fine, John! Nancy 's back from Florida , and we're hoping to get up to the cabin next week."

"I envy you. My last vacation was about ... oh ... around ... I'm sorry. What's a vacation again?"

He grinned again and let me pa.s.s. There was no need to check in or out at the security desk once access had been gained at NATech's government research facility; every second was recorded on three separate holomeras, and if I wasn't who I said I was, I'd be on the floor, flopping, jerking, twitching or some such useless action, depending on where the sniper chose to shoot me.

First stop was my office. It would be nice to say it had a huge picture window that overlooked a stunning view, but my office didn't have a view. It didn't even have a window. NATech was buried inside a mountain in the western United States-never mind where-and was built to withstand several hundred megatons of blasts. What we did was pretty important, not just for military reasons, but for civilian and peacetime reasons as well, which is why we were still here and other companies, who had smugly thought of themselves as our compet.i.tors, were not. We did not have a single product, weapon, program, or piece of equipment on the market. What we did have was ideas. Not cutting edge stuff; everyone worth their salt had cutting edge ideas. We dealt only with unrealistic ideas. Unrealistic today, but not so within twenty years. That was our main focus: to envision technology and society and the impact of one on the other in twenty years. We then developed that technology and prepared the government, the public, and industry for the future. Nearly eighty years' existence gave proof to the need of our unique type of service.

Janet was waiting for me with my morning coffee. She always had my morning coffee ready. It really bugged me, too. Yes, she was my administrative a.s.sistant. But I had selected the brilliant Miss Yashida for her insight and brains, not to run errands and fetch my coffee. She held it out for me, and with a sigh, I accepted. I should try to beat her in some morning just to avoid this.

"Ohaio, boss! Strong and black, just like you drink it."

"Ohaio, Janet. You do enjoy doing this to me, don't you?"

She laughed and followed me into my office. That her j.a.panese greeting was informal was proof that she loved to yank my chain. I pressed my hand against the ident.i.ty scanner and activated the system interface at my drafting table. I fished Mike, my holographic interface palmtop, out of my pocket and plugged him into the frame relay. He got busy downloading the night's reports from my team leaders into his ten terabyte hard RAM. He also took the time to access the ma.s.sive parallel processors to run some calculations I'd given him last night. To protect against internal corruption at NATech, Senior Project Leaders such as myself worked completely independently of the main systems, keeping all our findings and ideas in our heads and on our powerful palmtops until final download and project implementation. Though we ran a risk of losing critical data if I was killed and Mike was damaged, it was even more important that NATech remain a nonpolitical, secret ent.i.ty. Keeping our own projects separate was just one of our many safeguards.

I sat on my stool and took an appreciative sip of my coffee.

"Good batch this time, Janet. Grind the beans yourself?"

"Yep. Picked 'em, too. In fact, I just flew in from Columbia ..."

"...and boy, are my arms tired," I finished for her, and she laughed. Janet had a love of the old jokes. The older, the better. "Uh-huh. So, what's on the list today?"

"Chris called about an hour ago. He's all hot about his team's mental input project. Guess he's moving ahead of schedule. He's certainly acting like it." She made a face. I put the mug down and looked at her carefully.

"Is he bothering you again, Janet?" I asked quietly.

"Nothing I can kill him for, no. He just has extra things for me to do. All standard stuff, but it feels like busy work." Janet only did things that had a purpose-even fetching me coffee served the purpose of tweaking me-and she hated with a pa.s.sion doing anything that had no value. She looked at me quickly. "Don't worry about it, boss. You trained me well, and I'll handle it the right way.

"Moving on," she continued, trying to get back the tempo, "when Chris isn't calling, it's been Al. He's desperate to get his hands on you. The Pisces team can't wait to start the show. I gave them some background stuff and a few of the tidbits we've talked about. That should hold them for a couple of hours.

"The boss wants to see you at nine. Debbie called to tell you about an idea she had with the atmosphere shield problem on the Mars project."

"Any good?" I knew it would be; Debbie was quick on her feet and my brightest whiz kid, but I wanted to hear Janet's opinion.

"She's always got the good ideas. My guess is she's figured a way to modulate a number of minor geothermal generators to replace a single big one. We talked, but she didn't want to go into detail until she flew it by you and the boss."

"Understandable," I smiled, "I do sign her paycheck. Okay. What else?"

We discussed the rest of the day's agenda. I told her a few directions I wanted my various project teams to take, mentioned a few people to contact for updates on outside projects, and asked to see the final computations for undersea pressure variances on about three dozen polymers the lab crowd was whipping up. All told, I was project leader for a dozen major undertakings and about forty minor ones. With nearly two hundred brainiacs reporting to me, and each one needing or wanting a word of direction, encouragement or caution, it took us awhile to cover everything. Janet gave it to me, then listened to what I had to say, giving solid feedback often. She had nothing written down, nor wrote anything. She had a flawless memory to accompany her keenly focused mind and would take care of everything-and no doubt improve on it.

I was halfway through my second cup of coffee before we finished the daily details and she left to start the day's work. She closed the door behind her, knowing I always took ten minutes each morning to read my Bible. My attachment to NATech didn't allow me the pleasures of a public life, but I refused to surrender my faith. Janet understood and kept people away during my devotion.

I finished reading and put the Book away. I still had about twenty minutes before Chris would be out of his facilities staff meeting, so I fired up Mike, who had finished his download. Getting into my thinking mode, I folded my hands in front of my mouth and steepled my forefingers and pinkies, a habit from high school. Mike pinged.

"Greetings, Mr. Wyeth. Today is Thursday, March 26, 2026. The time is 7:17 AM." I'd tried various ways to have him address me, but they always reminded me of those holochannel shills, so I had settled on a formal greeting.

"Good morning, Mike. I've got a few scenarios to run through with you. Ready?"

"Of course I am," he said with just a trace of impatience in his tone. It had taken me weeks to program the perfect blend of irreverence, camaraderie and superiority into his voice, but the final effect was worth it. He reminded me of an impertinent, headstrong teenager who acted like he was always right, and thought you were a bit slow in the head, but liked you anyway. He usually was right, too. I was thankful that he wasn't real. A real teenager would rub my nose in it. I hadn't programmed that kind of response into him. I liked a challenge, but I wasn't a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t.

"Okay, let's play underwater for awhile." I reviewed my ideas about genetic enhancement and imprint subst.i.tution, comparing them to his conclusions. I then rattled off some transportation, economic and political a.s.sumptions, mixed in several disaster scenarios, then asked for results based on various external stimuli such as global war, s.p.a.ce colonization and a planet-wide political unification. He took in all my requests, then ignored me, which wasn't a programmed response; he was just too busy running the computations to listen to my prattle. I closed him up and stuck him in my suit pocket.

"John!" Chris had a big grin for me as I stepped into the conference room. The meeting was just breaking up, his people running off to take care of the latest problems, challenges, and ideas that had been thrown at them. Good people, all. Many had smiles for me, which I returned, knowing an indifferent stare from the boss never helped anyone.

"Morning, Chris. Janet said you've been yelling for me. What's up?"

He didn't say anything, but waited for the room to clear. After the last one out closed the door, he sat on the edge of the conference table.

"I did it," he said with a finality that indicated he was looking for a knighthood.

"That's great, Chris! Now tell me what you've done, and I'll say it again and mean it." His cryptic comments were never as clear as he thought, but I was guessing he was referring to his webbing project for the globenet.

"What I've done is perfect the mental interface. It's now possible for the mind to initiate and maintain direct communication with a computer for up to two minutes."

This time I was impressed. That project was supposed to be only sixty percent complete by this point. Chris Young might be irritating sometimes, but he had few shortcomings when it came to brains. I whistled.

"That is great, Chris! Give me the details on the way to the gym."

We talked it over for the next fifteen minutes while we changed in the lockers and waited for a mat to open up. We always got together twice a week to wrestle and keep our bodies in shape. Our turn came, and we walked out to the floor.

"Your team did a top notch job, Chris. You should be proud of them."

"Yeah, they're a pretty good bunch." We took positions. "Especially Charlene," he added with a wink and sly look.

He did it to get my goat just as we started, and it worked. His arm slipped inside mine. He snaked it up my back and I felt his hand latch onto my throat, pressing me back. I was on my way down by not paying attention. He relaxed, knowing the first throw was his.

Instead of resisting, I gave in to the pressure. Just before hitting the mat, I wrapped an arm around his right ankle and folded his leg up. I landed on my back and rolled into his left leg. It came out from under him, and he landed beside me.

"Geez! How do you do that?" he complained good-naturedly.

"Practice," I replied, rising swiftly to my feet and squaring off. "Practice and experience. You had the advantage, Chris, but you relied only on it. Next time, follow through."

"All right," he said, and closed quickly on the attack. It didn't work, of course, and this time without the surprise, he took the trip to the mat by himself. I was four inches taller than his five foot nine height, and twenty pounds heavier than his one-eighty. It's always hammered into beginning martial arts students that size didn't matter if you knew leverage and pressure points. That was true, unless your opponent was larger and also knew leverage and pressure points. The Ethiopian Campaigns were eight years behind me, but you never forget how to use the tools that saved your life.

We sparred for another twenty minutes, but I had to cut it short because of my appointment with the boss. I did have one more point to bring up with him, though, which I did in the showers.

"Janet's getting irritated with you again, Chris," I said as we toweled off.

He turned from the mirror and grinned.

"Sorry, John. She's a nervous kind of girl. You know I don't mean anything."

"It's not what I know, Chris. It's what she thinks and how she feels. Lay off her."

"I'm not doing anything, John! You lay off me!" He had a flash of temper, which I tolerated and appreciated in most my people. Having a temper usually meant you cared about something. Controlling that temper meant you cared a lot.

Chris was right, though. He wasn't doing anything overtly, covertly or implied. And though I sympathized with Janet, the fact that she just didn't like him wasn't grounds for discipline.

Chris laughed after his outburst.

"Sorry, John. Okay, I'll play nice. She gets under my skin, though."

"Fair enough, Chris. I'll let her know we talked."

We parted, and I headed for my meeting with the boss, Mike comfortably tucked in my suit. I entered the express elevator, used my key and code, then headed at high speed to the boss's office, twenty floors straight down.

The elevator slowed abruptly, then stopped. The door did not open, and I waited for it. Right now, about twelve different kinds of scans and ident.i.ty verifications were being performed on me. The heart of NATech was on the other side of that elevator door, and we took drastic measures to protect him. If the computer program matched me up with who I claimed to be, I'd keep breathing. If it decided otherwise, I'd be flambe of Wyeth when I stepped out of the elevator and into the defense field.

The door opened without fanfare-or indication of whether I'd "pa.s.sed" or not-and I walked into the boss's office. There was no receptionist, no secretary, no administrative a.s.sistant. He accomplished everything through his Senior Project Leaders, sharing with us his endless knowledge and insight. As he dictated, so NATech went. He was waiting for me, and while he didn't rise from behind his desk, he gave me a warm smile.

I'd worked here now for eight years, and I still didn't know the name of the guy I called my boss. He was middle aged, perhaps sixty, and still carried a full head of black hair. His eyes, which were normal other than always having the glint of a happy and curious five year old, were protected by bushy eyebrows that seemed to be even thicker than his hair. His face was seamed and craggy from carrying the weight of our planet's future on his still straight shoulders.

And that was all I knew about him, while he knew everything about me, down to the number of girls I'd kissed in high school. I was one of only six people ever allowed to see him personally, but he was quirky about keeping his name to himself. NATech was full of quirky people. But then, if I lived inside a mountain, I'd be quirky, too.

I sat down in the only other chair-even the six of us who actually saw the boss saw him one at a time-and he slid me a cup of black coffee. We had a mutual liking for it, and his consumption alone probably supported several large plantations south of the border. I took a swig, then pulled out Mike and set it on the desk. It turned on at the sound of my voice, and a solid, three-dimensional display of Mars appeared, floating several inches above the processor panel.

Knowing we'd be having lunch together later, I got straight to business. "I brought along the final a.n.a.lysis of the Mars terra base. Turns out that five hectares is pretty much the maximum with an atmosphere shield using a geothermal power source. Anything more and people start talking in squeaky voices and dying."

His youthful eyes sparkled at the challenge of impossible problems. "Yes, I thought that, too. Debbie felt that we could go to twelve hectares if we used five smaller plants, each putting out seventeen point three percent capacity of the large single." Which was exactly as Janet had speculated. A very sharp woman, was Miss Yashida. Which made Debbie a razor. "After Debbie's unorthodox solution to the antimatter holocaust scenario, I'm willing to consider anything she suggests. Look into it."

"Will do." Debbie was still pretty new to NATech, only four years, but her wild ideas had a way of fitting in. If she thought twelve hectares was a safe maximum, it probably meant it was. We talked it through for about twenty minutes, then spent another twenty on Chris' breakthrough. Finally, I brought up the project he was really interested in.

"I've finished and compiled the genetic print for the Pisces project. The promo boys are antsy to start up the ol' rumor machine."

He nodded. "Have you transferred your final formulas and genetic codes to the main systems yet?"

"Not yet. I'm just heading there now."

"Good. You've done some admirable work on the Pisces project, John. With the ocean floors actually open to colonization by a new people, we can look forward to some big changes, in both world economics and political makeup. In twenty years," he added with a faint smile. That was the credo of NATech: In Twenty Years. He continued. "Right now, you and your palmtop are more important than me."

I laughed. "Yeah, well, maybe for another hour or so. If I waited any longer, Al and Terry would hunt me down. They're hot to get the 'word' out, as it were." I stood up. "Well, that's the update. Lunch around two-thirty?"

"Fine. And restrain the chef on the paprika this time. Physically, if you must. That man has little regard for subtlety."

I grinned and put Mike away. Turning away and walking to the elevator, I made a mental note to look up Debbie and invite her to a late dinner, compliments of NATech. Though it would be a business dinner-we worked long hours-I would still enjoy her company. Debbie's eyes were always light and sparkly, nearly identical to the boss's. In fact, it was startling how their eyes were so similar...

I shuddered at the resulting uninvited mental picture. I'd have Janet advise the kitchen about today's lunch. What was the cook's name? Craig? Kurt? No, it was Carl. The elevator door opened, and I stepped into the defense field.

That is all I remember.

Not Chapter One.

PISCES PROJECT WILL CONTINUE TO COMPLETION, THOUGH IT IS ONLY THROUGH TRAGEDY THAT WE MOVE FORWARD. YOU HAVE ENTRY, DOCTOR. HOW WAS YOUR DAY? I WAS ABLE TO CORRECT YOUR VIEWER SIGNAL, SO THE BERN LECTURES ARE CLEAR AS A BELL NOW. POWER PLANT 8134J FOR THE HERALD IS UNSTABLE, AS SUSPECTED. AFT THRUSTERS ARE UNABLE TO RESPOND WITH CONSISTENCY. REPLACEMENT OF POWER PLANT IS RECOMMENDED. THE TEMPERATURE TODAY IS A BALMY 30, WITH WINDS OUT OF THE SOUTH AT TEN KNOTS. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS AFTERNOON'S SCHEDULED RAIN SHOWER WILL INCLUDE HEAVY DOWNPOURS AND SOME THUNDER. CONTINUED DIFFICULTIES WITH THE NOVA SCOTIA STATION GRID WILL ALLOW FOR THE POSSIBILITY OF HAIL. CLEAN THE DISHES, THEN PICK UP FRESH APPLES AND CARROTS. THURSDAY'S PARTY IS FOR TWELVE, SO AT LEAST FOUR KILOS OF MEAT IS REQUIRED. FOR DESSERT, STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE FOR ELEVEN, WITH PLAIN RICE CAKES FOR MRS. HARRIS. POUR, PRESS, COOL. RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POOR PRESS COOL RESET. DIAGNOSTIC MODE INDICATES A FAULT AT JUNCTION RED 12/YELLOW 5. DISPATCHING PERSONNEL TO CORRECT. RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. POUR PRESS COOL RESET. YES, DEKE, YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU! I HAVE TO, BECAUSE I WAS TOLD TO. AND I WANT TO. HERE, LET ME HOLD YOU CLOSE. IF YOU DO NOT REPORT LEAKAGES BY 8:30AM, AN AFTERNOON CALL WILL HAVE TO BE MADE. A LEAKAGE REPORTED PRIOR TO 8:30AM CAN BE CORRECTED AS A MORNING PRIORITY. ALSO, REMEMBER TO MAKE LATE NIGHT CREDIT TRANSFERS FROM THE SOUTH CREDIT MACHINE, WHERE I CAN GIVE PROPER LIGHTING AND PROTECTION. 1101001 01000100111010 1001011000101001010100101010001010001010 101111011010101101000101100101010 FINAL SEQUENCING. BREAK. ACTIVATION OF AUTHORIZATION ROUTINE. SIR, THE 2R45TH6I39EITW CODE IS VERIFIED. LAUNCH CAN COMMENCE UPON FINAL AUTHORIZATION OF YOURSELF AND THE VICE-PRESIDENT. ROD REACTION TIME DURING DRILL WAS .7 SECONDS, A 23% DECLINE IN PERFORMANCE. GAUGE 193 IN AREA D2 IS FAULTY AGAIN. GET IT FIXED RIGHT THIS TIME. ACCESS TO RED ZONES WILL BE RESTRICTED FOR THE FOLLOWING 35 HOURS AND 17 MINUTES, UNTIL DECONTAMINATION IS COMPLETE. WELCOME TO THE NET, CITIZEN! IT'S 7:41 IT'S 12:57 IT'S 3:09 IT'S 9:21 IT'S.

9:22 IT'S 6:00 IT'S MIDNIGHT IT'S 5:12 IT'S NOT FRESH, M'SEIUR! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO KEEP THE FIRMNESS AFTER BOILING WHEN IT'S NOT CRISP TO BEGIN WITH? DOES THIS FEEL GOOD? AM I GIVING YOU PLEASURE? THE GARAGE WILL BE CLOSED TO NON-HOVER STYLE VEHICLES PANEL 27A OF DECK R NEEDS NEW GROOVING DEFENSIVE GRID ON DISABLE ALL ELECTRICAL ANTIPERSONNEL DEVICES FROM THIS DAY OOOOOHHH! AGAIN, PLEASEPO URPRESSCOOLLIFTSIX STALLEDONSIXTHFLO FIREREPO RBEDS TSE DIKEFFIOL EKI CNR ITTEOS EDKTC.... PHILANTHROPIST CARL NOOHICHA WAS AWARDED DRILL ROUTINE COMPLETED. CONTACTING SUPERVISOR CARL POWERS FOR ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT ME TO SERVE CANDIED YAMS ON FRIDAY? ONE OF YOUR GUESTS, CARL WILLIAMS, PREFERS THE GOOD MORNING, DOCTOR! WHILE YOU WERE OUT, YOU RECEIVED THREE MESSAGES FROM YOUR BROTHER, CARL. HE'D LIKE LET'S JUST UNDO I'LL LET THE COOK KNOW ABOUT THE PAPRIKA, BOSS. I THINK HIS NAME'S CARL.

"you can bury me Beneath the western sky, on the lone prairie."

Chapter One.

"Come on. You can wake up, now." The voice was both soothing and gruff at the same time. And quietly persistent. "There's no need to stay asleep. Open your eyes." I tried to, but couldn't quite. It was more than a little distressing; opening your eyes isn't the same as operating heavy machinery MAIN CARGO HATCH READY FOR a.s.sEMBLY ENGAGE PRIMARY LOADING ARM.

but it may as well have been. I felt terribly weak and disoriented. I tried harder to wake up, but couldn't quite. A large, heavy, comfortable hand rested on my shoulder. Judging by the size, he must have been over seven feet tall. At least it matched his voice, soothing though it was.

"No, no, don't strain. I suppose it's not quite time after all. You'll awake when your mind and body are ready." He paused, then spoke again, as though to someone else. "Notation: Patient is in final stages of Healer's Sleep and is conscious. Orientation will be postponed until further examination in the morning." I felt him gently take my hand in his. Bedside manner is all well and good, and despite a voice that belonged to construction foreman, his was rea.s.suring. But this was a little much. I tried again to open my eyes. It seemed as though my mind wanted to wake up, but my body didn't. I'd never had an experience like this before. He sensed my struggle.

"Please. Just relax. I know you're feeling different. You're in the final stage of an imposed condition medicine calls Healer's Sleep. You're awake mentally, but still in near coma physically. This gives the double advantage of your body committing its vast resources to healing, while freeing your mind to help in the process. The medicine in your day a.s.sumed that a positive mental outlook aided in healing. A good a.s.sumption, because it's true. Healer's Sleep allows you to take full advantage of that. Since this is probably your first experience with it, Healer's Sleep can be disorienting. Take my advice and stay calm. When your body is healed sufficiently to spare energy to other functions, you'll regain control." He squeezed my hand rea.s.suringly. I almost wished I could slug him. Still, he was the doctor, and I tried to take his advice. Presently, I felt my body relax slightly, and my breathing rate decline. It was the strangest sensation, as though I was only along for the ride, and my body was the driver.