Geosynchron (21 page)

Horvil gave Richard Taylor a skeptical look. He wasn't quite sure
whether to regard Taylor as a potential ally, a deliberate saboteur sent
here by forces unknown, or just a misguided and possibly delusional
head case. Perhaps a bit of all three?

The engineer had read about how people often projected their desires,
fears, and neuroses onto celebrities. He remembered the way people from
that bizarre creed had showered the fiefcorp with adulation as they had
walked to the Prime Committee hearing two months ago. Horvil would
never know exactly who those people were and whether they had really
been on the payroll of Speaker Khann Frejohr. But his instincts said that
they really were ordinary plebeians-shopkeepers, accountants, analysts,
street vendors-who had deliberately tried to insert themselves into the
drama of Natch's fight against the government. Their actions had
changed nothing, yet surely they were sitting in their homes even now
telling friends that they had been a part of that drama.

Horvil was about to start gently drawing the conversation to a
close, but Serr Vigal beat him to the punch. "I really don't mean to be
rude, Richard," he began haltingly. "But given all of the people in the
world looking for Natch, I find it difficult to believe that you would
have some sort of inside information."

"Both factions of the Council are looking for him," added Horvil.
"Gorda and Lee. I'm sure they've got hundreds of officers on the task
and millions of credits at their disposal."

Taylor took no offense at their suspicion. Not that intentions
counted for much in such a confused and denigrated world, but as far
as Horvil could tell Taylor's were completely in earnest. "Oh, but you
see, I have an advantage over both Lieutenant Executive Magan Kai
Lee and High Executive Len Borda," he said. "The brothers in my
order have actually seen Natch."

The engineer held his breath for a moment, exhaled. "How
recently?"

"I would say about a month ago."

"Are you sure it was him? Handsome guy, sandy-colored hair, eyes
deep blue. . ."

"This man's eyes were green, I believe," said Taylor.

Vigal had momentarily displayed signs of hope, but now he was
quickly dismissing them. "You can understand why we're skeptical...."

The Pharisee nodded. "I understand your skepticism entirely. I can
only ask you to listen to my story before you pass judgment on it. I also
don't wish to give offense, Horvil and Serr Vigal ... but I believe that
you really have nothing to lose by granting me ten minutes of your
time to lay my evidence before you. If you choose not to believe me, I
will chalk that up to my own poor powers of persuasion and I will not
bother you again."

Horvil wasn't sure if he could endure another ten minutes of
Richard Taylor's eclectic mannerisms, but he admitted that the man
had a point. So, too, did Vigal. Their own deductions had so far led
them absolutely nowhere; they had not a single credible lead on
Natch's whereabouts. The two sat back and listened.

Taylor proceeded to tell them in a circuitous fashion about how one
of the chapters of his organization, the Faithful Order of the Children
Unshackled, had taken on a number of unwise financial obligations over the past few years. The chapter was beholden to a certain capitalman on
49th Heaven who had subsequently insisted on calling in those loans
with threats of violence. ("A mobster," said Horvil. The Pharisee
shrugged, not debating his characterization.) And so, the head of the
local chapter had approached a man in the orbital colony who had
recently garnered a reputation for negotiating on debtors' behalf. Not
only had the man succeeded in getting the capitalman to back off, but
he had persuaded him to reduce the principal of the loan by fifty percent.

"And this man, this negotiator ... was Natch?" said Serr Vigal,
unconvinced.

"I believe it was," replied Taylor. "But my brothers were not given
the man's name or his title, so I cannot say for absolute certain."

"If your order has seen him ... if you've had dealings with him ...
then why do you need our help?"

"He is rather difficult to get hold of. He seems to have decided
that, having dealt with my brethren once, he has no need to deal with
us again. As far as we have been able to determine, he is a man without
an address and without a profile in your Data Sea public directory. He
seems to be something of a ghost."

"And why do you need to find him again?"

"I bear an important message for him from the head of my order,
in Khartoum."

"Which says?"

"I do not wish to be rude, as I have said," replied Taylor hesitantly.
"But I am told that this message is for Natch's ears alone."

Horvil didn't want to be too dismissive-as painstakingly polite as
this Pharisee acted, he was a member of a foreign culture whose rules
of etiquette were a complete mystery-yet the engineer agreed with
Vigal. Nothing about the man's story provided any context for
believing that the strange benefactor of his order was the world's most
wanted former fiefcorp master. If the story was even true, this negotiator could have been anybody.

"You have to look at this from our point of view, Richard," said
Horvil. "We've seen hundreds of drudge postings on the Data Sea from
people who claim to have seen Natch or talked to Natch. There's a
woman on Luna who's absolutely convinced that she just had Natch's
baby." Taylor started to raise his hand to object, but Horvil stopped
him. "All we're saying is that you've come to us with a story that
doesn't contain any information you couldn't have gotten by trolling
the Data Sea. You've gotta give us some reason why we should listen to
you. Some distinguishing characteristic. Otherwise ..."

Taylor was not discouraged by this lecture. He gave the matter a
moment's careful thought. "This man told the head of the chapter on
49th Heaven that he was once the top bio/logic programmer in the
world," he offered.

"Lots of people know that Natch was number one on Primo's,"
replied Horvil.

"He had a very interesting conversation with the head of the local
chapter, which he then proceeded to relay to me in full. I found it quite
striking, and perhaps it may mean something to you." Taylor rolled his
eyes upward as if delicately probing his memory. "The man said that
he once thought he had no future. But then his guardian told him
something that inspired him: Your future is what you choose to do
tomorrow. And the direction you're searching for? Your direction is where you
choose to go. "

The engineer was about to dismiss the quote as improbable when
he caught the peculiar look in Serr Vigal's face. In the space of four sentences, his expression had morphed from one of utter skepticism to one
of sadness and desperate hope. Was Vigal, in fact, the guardian who
had spoken these words to Natch?

"If we assume that this person might be Natch," began the neural
programmer in a low, unsteady tone, "how can we help you find him?"

14

Jara knew that by taking a hiatus from connectible civilization, she
would miss the entirety of the West London Grandmasters' League's
annual tournament. This chagrined her. Not that she had any hope of
getting past the first round, but she had committed to play, and she
hated to break commitments. Jara supposed that what really mattered
was the commitment to herself, the reason she had joined the league
in the first place. And by following Quell out to the Islands, she felt
like she was not only staying faithful to that promise, she was
renewing it.

Other things were not so easily settled, however. Jara was fairly
certain she'd be able to maintain audio and video contact with Horvil
from Manila. The Islanders weren't so barbaric that they couldn't see
the usefulness of instantaneous communications. But would they allow
a more prurient form of communication through the Sigh? Doubtful
that a government that blocked the multi network would let in signals
from something as trivial as a virtual sex network.

There was little danger of a disconnect on Horvil's end. Four of the
five hotels on 49th Heaven that he contacted for pricing offered free
hours on the Sigh at check-in.

So that night, Jara let Horvil pick the environment. Though the
engineer playfully threatened to call up "Contortionist Whores of 49th
Heaven" ("C'mon, Jara, it's research," he said), in the end he chose a virtual version of his own apartment, if his apartment were cleaned and
spruced up and the gravity lowered to 0.8g. "Who knows how long it
might be until we see each other again," Horvil explained as they sat
together on the couch under the window that overlooked the Thames.
"I don't want to be distracted during our last time together by a lot of
make-believe."

"Don't start getting melodramatic on me," Jara chided him,
brushing his cheek affectionately with her knuckles. "You know 49th
Heaven isn't that dangerous, unless you go to the inner rings."

"So don't you think it's more likely that Natch would hide there?"

"Maybe. But I'm not worried. You can take care of yourself."

Horvil leaned back and insinuated his hands under Jara's blouse, the
better to run his thumbs up the jagged highway of her spine. "Thank you.
I'm gratified. But it's really me that should be worried about you."

"It's not like I'm going to Furtoid," said Jara with a purr as
Horvil's backrub began to have its soothing effect. "Sure, they won't
have multi, but Manila's just a tube ride away. The Islanders aren't savages. What could happen?"

She had phrased the question in a humorous tone, but the engineer
took it with uncharacteristic seriousness. "What could happen? Are
you kidding? Len Borda and Magan Kai Lee are gearing up for a civil
war, security's a mess everywhere you turn-and you're headed straight
for the biggest flashpoint on the globe. Jara, Manila could be a war zone
next week. Didn't it occur to you that this mission Quell's hiring you
for could be dangerous?"

Horvil wasn't saying anything that Jara didn't already know. Yet
somehow she had not quite thought of it that way. Quell had hired the
fiefcorp for a consulting job, and that's exactly what Jara was preparing
for. Sitting around conference tables, holding late-night arguments,
conducting research, convening focus groups. She supposed she needed
to be reminded that assassins, mercenaries, saboteurs, and spies were
also, in some sense, consultants.

Jara could feel a lump welling in her throat. Suddenly the potential consequences of this separation were beginning to stack up.

Her life had slipped into a comfortable if uninspiring groove over
the past two months. After decades of personal and professional dissatisfaction, Jara had become the head of a fiefcorp. She enjoyed financial
stability and a slowly budding relationship with a man she trusted and respected. Would her company ever rise back to the heights Natch had
taken it to? Would her unlikely twosome with Horvil eventually
become a permanent companionship? Difficult, headache-provoking
questions. Jara had been confident that the answers could wait awhile.