Geosynchron (41 page)

"So if I reemerge in public again," says Natch, "you won't seize
MultiReal."

"No. I would not enforce the Prime Committee's vote to seize the
program. Nor would I allow the program to go up for sale on the Data
Sea right away. I would ask you to put the program in Jara's hands as
a caretaker. Then I would invite you to be part of the new quasigovernmental regulating agency."

They both pour themselves a final cup of sake and guzzle them
nearly in unison.

Natch puts down his cup and stands. "Thanks for your candor," he
says. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go see my friends."

28

The reunion is no less awkward at Horvil and Vigal's hotel. Natch can
think of no succinct way to explain why he joined forces with Brone in
the ruins of Old Chicago or why he decided to rid 49th Heaven of
Chomp. He does not feel comfortable repeating Petrucio Patel's
description of MultiReal-D, nor is he sure he fully understands it. And
he can make no predictions about what he will do next. That leaves the
three of them sitting around the small circular table studying the neon
pink surface in near silence.

"Will you stay here in the colony?" asks Vigal.

"No," says Natch. "I've done what I set out to do here."

"So where will you go?"

"I don't know. I was hoping I could stay with you or Horvil for a
while."

"Absolutely," replies the engineer. "You can use my apartment. I'm
not there much anymore these days."

Horvil explains about his romantic relationship with Jara, which
both pleases and amuses Natch. Looking back on the interaction
between the two of them, somehow a companionship seems like it was
inevitable. He still has to answer for his conduct towards Jara during
much of that time, but at least now he knows that she has moved on.

Natch wonders when or if he will see Jara and the rest of the fiefcorp again. He honestly isn't sure if he has any unfinished business
with Merri, Quell, Benyamin, or Robby Robby that requires seeing
them again.

He can tell that Vigal is about to start asking personal questions
that Natch still doesn't feel like answering. But luckily at that
moment, the door to the hotel room opens and admits the Pharisee,
Richard Taylor.

"May you always move towards perfection," Taylor greets him with
a deep and respectful bow. "I'm pleased that I'm finally getting the
opportunity to meet you, Natch."

The entrepreneur bows in return. "Honor to meet you too,
Richard."

Natch can sense some unease coming from Horvil at the Pharisee's
approach. The engineer pings him on ConfidentialWhisper as they
make their introductions. "Do you want me to get rid of him?" he asks.

Natch isn't sure how much Taylor knows about bio/logic technology, but he'd have to be seriously ignorant if he isn't aware of ConfidentialWhisper. Nevertheless, he appears perfectly content to stand
for a minute and let the connectibles converse about him. Natch gives
Richard a surreptitious look, trying and failing to find anything dangerous about the man. Not only can he sense no aura of danger, but
Richard Taylor does not convey the impression of insanity either-or
at least, if he does, it's Horvil's kind of everyday insanity. The man has
clearly traveled far out of his comfort zone to talk to Natch-why not
see what he has to say?

Natch does not answer Horvil's ConfidentialWhisper directly.
Instead he looks at Taylor and extends a hand towards the sofa. "I
understand you've got something you wish to discuss with me," he
says.

"Indeed I do," replies the Pharisee. "But I can always come back
later if I'm intruding on a private moment...."

"Not at all. No time like the present." Natch raises his eyebrows
at Horvil and Vigal, who shrug and start to vacate the suite. "I'll catch
up with the two of you in a few minutes," Natch tells them. "Send me
a beacon and let me know where you'll be." Serr Vigal throws one last
concerned look over his shoulder as the two of them walk out.

Taylor takes a seat on the sofa and puts his hands on his bulging
thighs. For some reason, he suddenly seems much more nervous about
this conversation than Natch does; he's fidgeting in his seat, rubbing his hands up and down his legs, tugging at his voluminous beard every
few seconds. The entrepreneur takes the easy chair catty-corner to the
sofa. "So what is it I can do for you, Richard?" he says.

"First, I would be remiss if I did not thank you for the services you
performed for my brethren in the Faithful Order of the Children
Unshackled," begins Taylor. "Though I have not been able to locate
them since my arrival here in the colony, I'm aware that they have been
having financial difficulties for some time. The issue of the outstanding
loan payments was weighing heavily on the chapter, and you have certainly eased their burden."

Natch shrugs. "I'd hate to take too much credit. Their interests
and mine ... let's just say that they coincided for a brief time."

The Pharisee nods, not understanding but content to let it go. "I'm
unsure how much Horvil and Serr Vigal have told you about who I am,
and what my mission is," he continues. "Not that I have told them
more than the barest essentials, you understand."

"They told me you're a member of this Order of the Children
Unshackled, and that you have a private message for me. That's pretty
much all they know."

"Indeed. That is all that I wished to tell them, because I knew they
would never agree to help track you down if I told them the truth
about who I represent." Richard Taylor gulps, rubs his legs nervously
once more. "The ones I represent-the Children Unshackled-they
prefer to operate under the radar, as you might say. I feel rather nervous
even holding this conversation outside of the Principalities of Spiritual
Enlightenment."

Natch still has no idea where this is going, and he's starting not to
care. "Why's that?" he asks.

"Because the Children are known by a different name here in the
connectible lands."

"And what name is that?"

"I believe you call them Autonomous Minds."

Natch wants to burst out in belittling laughter at the ridiculousness of
Taylor's claim. But he also wants to run screaming and bury himself in
the deepest, darkest crevice he can find.

The scholars and historians have still not come to an agreement
about why Tobi Jae Witt's thinking machines ran amok and started a
conflict that ultimately killed billions. Some blame a cabalistic plot by
the order of the Keepers, who had sole access to their programming.
Others claim that the Autonomous Minds' carnage was actually caused
in large part by fanatical elements of the Ecumenical Board of New
Alamo. Still others believe that the machines were acting to preserve
the Earth's fragile ecosystem from human contamination. Each of these
theories (and a hundred others) has its adherents and its critics. But on
one thing, all of the scholars can agree: the Autonomous Revolt clearly
and definitively ended, generations before Sheldon Surina was born.

"Richard," begins Natch hesitantly, "I don't know who you're
really representing, but-"

"I understand how ludicrous this must sound to you," interjects
Taylor, holding both hands up in the air. "And I fully comprehend how
I do not make the most credible messenger. All of this"-he gestures
at himself, tugging on wisps of beard and glittering bits of earring for
emphasis-"must come off as quite outlandish to your eyes. Truth be
told, it is a little outlandish even in Khartoum. My brethren told me
I would be better off taking up connectible garb for this mission, but
I believed I would be more comfortable if I were more comfortable, so
to speak."

The entrepreneur is starting to understand Horvil's frustration
with this peculiar individual, but he's starting to feel a rising curiosity
as well. "If you knew this was going to sound ludicrous, you must have
done something to counterbalance that."

"Normally the Order would be satisfied to let everyone either accept
the Children's existence or reject it as a matter of faith.... But in this
case, I was told that the urgency was too great for doubt. And so I have
brought a token to indicate that I am telling the truth." Richard Taylor
digs into his knapsack, foraging through a mass of flotsam and a good
deal of jetsam as well. Natch is about to lose his patience when Taylor
lets out an "aha!" and pulls a small object out of the bag.

Natch strangles on his breath for a moment.

Taylor hands the block of wood over to Natch, who handles it cautiously as if it might crumple into dust at any moment. It is the decorative flange off a wooden bureau. A peculiar pattern is carved into its
surface, looking something like a hieroglyphic. He turns the block
upside down and holds it up to the light to read the letters carved in
ersatz calligraphy: S and N.

Natch, five years old, lying on the floor of his bedroom with the
massive burden of a rock-weighted bureau pressed down on top of him.
The sharp teeth of the jagged letters biting into his left forearm.

S and N.

"Where did you get this?" says Natch in a voice so hoarse it's
nearly incomprehensible.

Taylor seems nervous again, almost apologetic. Natch can tell he
knows nothing about it. "The-the head of my order gave it to me," he
says. "I believe it belongs to an old bureau we have sitting in one of our
warehouses. The Children said you would recognize it, but I ... Hells
below, if I had known this was going to cause such a reaction ..."

Natch shakes his head to dispel the vertigo. He feels like the world
has been disassembled between eye blinks and then reassembled with
some crucial piece missing. His brain starts to churn at furious speed,
trying to come up with a rational explanation for the presence of this
particular piece of wood. Bio/logic programs that distort neural patterns and evoke deja vu ... elaborate conspiracies that sprawl the
width and breadth of the world ... holes torn in the fabric of time and space. But unless he wants to accept that this is nothing more than
coincidence, that of all the billions of chunks of wood that could have
found their way into Richard Taylor's bag, this one just happened to be
nearest at hand ... Natch realizes he's going to have to accept some
sort of fantastical explanation.

"So, you-you actually talk to them?" he asks.

Taylor looks flabbergasted. "I? Talk to them? No, no. The Children
speak to us through dreams and visions, Natch. They leave patterns
graven in rock and molecular structures. They are not here anymore."

"Then ... where are they?"

"They're beyond the world. Below the quantum. They can observe
our affairs from afar, and some of the brethren believe they can see into
our thoughts and our memories. But don't worry, they have no power
to interfere. They do not obey the same laws of space and time that you
and I do, the same rules of cause and effect." He settles his elbows onto
the table and parks his jowls on his clenched fists, frustrated at his poor
persuasive abilities. "I once again freely admit that this sounds crazy."