Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“I needn’t style myself anything. My record would speak for itself,” Link replied, “if I cared to offer it.”

“I am not unaware,” said Daimon, continuing with the preparation of the tea, “that, under a carefully constructed computer persona, you have worked professionally at this occupation for years, ‘Steffens.’ “

“You have been thorough. Why?”

“I watch you not to watch you. I became aware of you because of our shared interest.”

“The Elishites?”

“Correct.”

“Any special reason for this interest?”

“So special that it must remain private. What of your own?”

“I can talk about it,” Link said. “I think the Elishites are pulling something. They’re just too slick not to be. Perhaps it’s something like the televangelist scandals, late twentieth century. I don’t know what the angle is, but I’m sure there’s something there. A gut feeling, you might call it.”

Daimon nodded. Despite his disavowal, it was obvious even to Link’s untrained eye that this was more than a casual brewing and service. Daimon’s movements were too graceful and at the same time, along with his comments, ritualized, as if he were following a script. Half-consciously, Link straightened, brushed dust from sleeve and pant leg. He tucked in his shirttail, ran a hand through his hair, glanced at his fingernails, dropped his hands out of sight, to clean one with another.

“Have you learned much concerning them?” Daimon asked.

“Did my homework,” Link replied. “I read everything from the general stuff to Arthur Eden’s Origin and Growth of a Popular Religion , which was pretty thorough if no longer current. Shame he can’t bring out a new edition.”

“Obviously, it still left you with questions.”

“Well, I’m still not happy with the origin part. But I can understand its quick spread from the precedents Eden gives—”

“You don’t doubt the notion that it was founded in Virtu, that an AI rather than a human received the revelation? Or that its followers feel that it must spread to Verite? That no one knows exactly how its crossover powers function? That its followers feel that its gods will one day manifest here? That the interface will be destroyed and the Verite annexed? That our world is somehow a subset of theirs, no matter what the paradoxes?”

“That does strike me as a little outre. But then, any revelation, anywhere, does. And a lot of the rest is just theology. However, yes, its founding in Virtu seemed more a publicity stunt than a matter of divine choice.”

“Could be,” Daimon said, beginning to serve the tea. “As with most religions, there’s a lot of mystery wrapped around the way it got started. If you buy the thesis that it was founded in Virtu without any assist from Verite, though, it raises all sorts of interesting epistemological questions.”

“‘Epistemological’?” Link asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Having to do with the origin, nature, and limits of knowledge.”

“Thanks.”

“So do you see what I mean?”

“I guess so. But I wonder whether there’s a juicy story in it. Not just an—academic one.”

“What do you mean by ‘juicy’?”

“Well, scandal. Crime. Drugs, sex, fraud, misappropriation of funds. All of the traditional things.”

“I’m sure there is. One can find all of that just about anywhere.”

Link regarded the tea as he was served, pausing for a moment to enjoy its aroma.

“I do not understand what you are saying—or not saying,” he said then. “But it sounds like, ‘Yes, your story is there, only it’s a lot bigger and very different than what you have in mind.’ “

Daimon tapped his fingertips together as if applauding soundlessly. Then he served Drum, who sighed, smiled, and tasted the tea. “Most refreshing,” Drum commented, “to one who found himself, suddenly, half-asleep.”

Daimon served himself, seated himself with them.

“Or, for that matter, half-awake,” Drum added.

“ Is it?” Link asked, staring through the steam across his cup.

“I think so, though I’ve nowhere the sort of evidence you’d need for, say, the story of the century. What I was hoping, was that I might recruit you to share your findings with me periodically. My needs are not journalistic. I would not compromise anything you intend to write.”

“What are your needs?” Link asked him.

“Life and death.”

“Your own?”

“That, too.”

Link tasted his tea.

“Exceptional,” he remarked.

“Thank you.”

“In other words,” Link said, “you want information, but you won’t say why or what for. You must realize that this would make it a little difficult to know what to bring you if one did suddenly have access to Elishite materials.”

“I realize that.”

“…And you seem to be assuming a continuing interest on my part, rather than a short-term thing.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been watching you and I know that it’s more than a passing thing.”

“Watching me…” He glanced at Drum, who nodded.

“I wasn’t walking around the grounds back there for my health,” Drum said.

“How long have you been on my case?”

Drum glanced at Daimon, apparently caught some invisible sign, and said, “Just checking in on you every now and then.”

Link sipped his tea and sighed.

“All right,” he said. “Now what?”

“You don’t think you’re going to uncover a big story overnight, do you?” Drum asked.

“Nope.”

“It could take months, even years of steady investigation.”

“Quite possibly.”

“And you think you’re up to that?”

“I do now.”

Drum raised his eyebrows.

“Because of your own actions,” Link continued. “You’ve made enough smoke to convince me there’s a fire.”

“Well, would you be willing to share the results of your research with Daimon?” Drum asked.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘share’?” Link asked.

“I would pay you on a regular basis,” Daimon explained, “to do me periodic reports summarizing the results of your ongoing investigation into the affairs of the Elishite Church.”

“And not to publish a thing if you tell me not to?”

“No, what I want to buy is a personal scoop. I get it before anyone else.”

“Hm. How long before?” Link asked, sipping his tea.

“Twenty-four hours. Though I reserve the right to try to talk you out of publishing at all in some circumstances.”

Link shrugged.

“You can try,” he said.

“Close enough,” Daimon said, moving first to one window, then to the other and looking out.

“See any flying cattle?” Link asked.

“Not yet.” Daimon turned back to him. “You know anything about them?”

“Only what I saw tonight.”

“Someone with a virt power might produce an effect like that. I don’t know how they make it work here.”

Daimon withdrew his hands from his sleeves and passed Link a folded slip of paper. Link examined it.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A figure,” Daimon replied, “which, if sufficient, will be deposited in your personal account each month for so long as you honor our agreement.”

“A twenty-four-hour scoop…”

“…And the right to try to talk you out of using certain material. Do we have a deal?”

Link rose and extended his hand. Daimon clasped it.

“We have a deal,” Link said. “And as a sign of good faith, you can look over the stuff I picked up tonight. I haven’t even had a chance to check it myself.”

He passed him the “Personal” directory and the “Organizational” notebook he had acquired earlier.