Halo: First Strike (28 page)

"What I came here for," Gonzales said.  "The same as these

people."

"You're out of it," Traynor said.  "Put your shirt back on

and go homeyou can take the shuttle out this afternoon."

"I don't think so," Gonzales said.  He put his folded shirt

on the back of the chair.

"You're fired," Traynor said.  His voice shook just a little.

"By you, maybe," Lizzie said.  "Gonzales, welcome to the

Interface Collective."

"I'll never confirm that," Horn said.

Toshi said, "I have a question for you, Mister Traynor, and

you, Mister Horn.  What do you intend to do about Aleph and the

existing crisis?  Do you have a plan of action that makes what is

planned here unnecessary?"

"Yes, we are bringing in an entire staff of analysts,"

Traynor said.  "We will follow their recommendations concerning

the present difficulties; we will also institute arrangements that

will prevent anything of this kind from happening again."  He

nodded to Horn.

"By effecting a decentralization modality," Horn said.  "The

various functionalities and aspects of the Aleph system will be

reorientated to allow of individualized project performance."

"We're going to replace Aleph with a number of smaller,

controllable machines," Traynor said.

"Are you?" Lizzie said, and she laughed.

"That is impossible," Charley said.

"Or has already been done," Toshi said.  "Aleph itself

instituted a dispersal of functions to independent agents. 

However, all must ultimately be supervised by a central

intelligence."

"That's what people are for," Traynor said.  "Halo's reliance

on a machine intelligence has proved unworkable."

Toshi said, "As that may be.  However, your remarks

concerning the immediate circumstances lack substance."

"Does your advisor agree to this plan?" Gonzales asked.

"Why do you ask?" Traynor asked.

"Curious," Gonzales said.  Traynor said nothing.  "Well, I

didn't think it would," Gonzales said.

Lizzie said, "One thing at a time.  You bring on your

analysts, and we'll fight your silly scheme when we have to.  But

in the meantime, stay away from us and perhaps we can fix what you

have broken."

"That will not be possible," Traynor said.  "As your previous

efforts caused the situation, any further involvement on your part

will likely worsen it; therefore, as representative of SenTrax

Board, I am denying you authorization for any connections to Aleph

other than those required to maintain essential functions at

Halo."

"Someone here is a fool," Diana said.  Dressed in a long

white cotton gown, she stepped from behind her screen, neural

cables trailing down her back.  "Presumably this one."  She

pointed to Horn.  To Traynor she said, "Horn has lived and worked

here; he has no excuse for his ignorance of the facts of life at

Halo.  You, on the other hand, have come into a situation you do

not understand.  Let me tell you the main thing you need to know: 

you cannot disperse Aleph or replace it with what you think are

the sum of its parts.  You cannot even locate Aleph."

"What do you mean?" Horn asked.

"Where is Aleph?" Diana said.  "It and Halo are so deeply

intertwined that you cannot separate them.  Halo's breath is

Aleph's breath.  Halo sees and hears and feels and moves with

Aleph."

"Poetic but unconvincing," Traynor said.

"More than poetry," Diana said.  "No one knows where Aleph's

central components are."

"Is that true?" Traynor asked.

"Yes," Horn said.

"This complicates matters," Traynor said.  "No more."

"I am not interested in this discussion," Lizzie said. 

"Anyone who wishes may pursue it later, but we have things to do. 

Building monitor, this is Lizzie Jordan; please notify Halo

Security that we have two intruders in the building and wish them

removed."  To Traynor she said, "If you think we can't enforce

this, ask Horn about Halo Central Authority and who they'll side

withcorporate wankers who can do nothing to keep this city

running, or us.  Better yet, ask your machine."

Traynor stood looking at them all, apparently doing just

that.  For a couple of long heartbeats, everyone waited.  Then

Traynor smiled through pain, like a man trying to hide a broken

bone.  He said, "We cannot prevent you from this unauthorized

connection to Aleph, but we can and will put on the official

record that proper SenTrax authority has forbidden this attempt. 

Thus you must all be considered insubordinate, and as soon as

proper means can be devised, you will be removed from your

positions with SenTrax.  Also, any further damage done to the

Aleph system or Halo City, directly or indirectly, must be

considered your individual responsibility, given that proper

SenTrax authority has forbidden your intended actions."

"You take nice dictation," Lizzie said.  "Consider your

statement duly noted and get the fuck out of here.

21. Drunk with Love

Waiting in the egg, Gonzales smelled strange smells and felt

electric quiverings of the flesh, saw an instant of pure blue

light, and with a sudden rush

He flew cruciform against the sky.  The horizon's flat line

seemed thousands of miles away.  Far below, people scurried

aimlessly across a sandy plain, and voices called in unknown

languages.  Massive machinery lumbered to nowhere among the

crowds, metal arms thousands of feet long folding and unfolding in

random seizure, improbably threading their behemoth way among the

delicate flesh without harm.

The wind rushed across him, its force inflating his lungs. 

Accelerating with a glad cry, he passed through an electric

membrane, a translucent, shimmering curtain that stretched

vertically from the floor below up to infinity and spread out

across the entire horizon.  Beyond it, titanic figures loomed

above a landscape of rocks and hills.  Next to a monstrous lute, a

head in profile reclined; from its mouth came a wisp of smoke that

curled into a curlicued ideogramwhat it meant or what language

it came from Gonzales didn't know.  Twin white horses rose into

the air in unison and neighed as he passed.  A nude woman lay

inside a shellboth woman and shell were colored pink and rose

and pearl.  A giant cyclops strode toward him; its doughy head

seemed half-formed, its mouth just a slash, its nose a mere bump. 

It called to him with inarticulate cries.

He passed through another curtain, and the world turned black

and white.  Above a featureless sea, a head flew toward him; it

had dark curly hair and a beaky nose, and it was tilted forward to

look down on the sea, as if searching for something there.  He

came to a bell that covered almost a quarter of the sky.  A

skeletal figure with just an empty mask for a face hung beneath it

from the bell-rope; the figure lurched, and the bell's gonging

sounded through his bones.

He came to the final curtain.  The sky had turned the bright

blue of dreams.  Beyond, the Point of Origin towered, its sides

pierced by an infinite number of holes.  Gonzales flashed through

the curtain and felt an electric buzz down to his bones, then he

entered a hole in the vast ramparts of the dark cube.

#

Sitting behind a low bamboo table, the old man spooned

noodles into a wooden bowl, then as Gonzales nodded his assent to

each choice, added coriander, fried garlic, bean crackers, chopped

eggs, fish sausage, and sesame nuts.  He ladled fish soup over it

all, finished with a shake of chili powder and a squeeze of lime,

and handed the bowl to Gonzales with a smile.  Gonzales gave a

handful of cheap-looking kyat bills to the man.  Mohinga, this

breakfast is called, and Gonzales loves ithe has eaten it every

morning since he discovered it weeks ago.

Gonzales found a stone bench in front of a nearby pagoda and

sat eating with a pair of crude chopsticks and watching the

passers-by.  Already the day had grown warm and humid, and he knew

that any physical exertion would make him sweat.  A line of boys

filed by, led by a monk; their heads were newly-shaven, their

saffron robes bright and stiff, their begging bowls shiny.  They

were twelve year olds who had just completed their shin pyu, their

making as monks, a ritual most Burmese boys still went through,

even in the middle of the twenty-first century.

After breakfast he had no desire to return to the shed he

worked in;  he set out for a walk through the countryside around

Pagan.

Half an hour later, walking a cart track across the arid

plain, he came to a platform built high off the ground.  On it

were garlands of bright flowers and plates of rice, offerings to

propitiate the nats, spirits that had animated this land even

before the arrival of Buddhism.  They were mischievous and could

be quite nasty; in the past, they had demanded human sacrifice.

The nats were strong around Pagan.  At Mount Popa, just

thirty miles away, Min Mahagiri, brother and sister, "Lords of the

High Mountain," ruled.  Gonzales had heard their story but

remembered only that as humans these nats had been caught in an

intrigue of envy and murder, with a neighboring king as the

villain.

A young person came walking up the path toward Gonzales,

dressed in the usual Burmese "western" garb of dark slacks and

white cotton shirt, head and face a shining sphere of light.  Odd,

thought Gonzales.  Wonder how that happened:  this person has lost

both face and gender.

"Hello," the young person said, and the two of them found a

low stone bench in front of a nearby pagoda and sat.

"Why are you here?" the young person asked.

Gonzales was glad to be asked.  He told of the information

audit about to finish, about Grossback's lack of cooperation 

told what would happen next: that in just a few days he, Gonzales,

would leave Burma and almost be killed in an air attack by Burmese