David Edelman - Infoquake

Natch could have recited the words from memory, but he pretended to read them over two or three times. Obviously, blackmail was not her objective, or Natch would have been greeted at the compound gates by representatives of the Meme Cooperative. "It's a warning from the Vault," he said simply.

The bodhisattva let it go, banishing the missive into the aether. She seemed to be retreating into her shell. Again, Natch caught the hollow look of fear in Margaret's eyes, and the intimate concern radiating from the Islander standing in the doorway.

"You need to understand something," said Natch abruptly. "Investing in a new technology isn't cheap. I'll need to bring on new employees, conduct research. Buy more equipment. Train my people, find more channelers." He tallied up each item with his fingers while he spoke. "All that takes money. Just because my fiefcorp made number one on Primo's doesn't mean we're number one in sales. I don't have that many credits lying around-especially if you expect me to get involved in a new project that isn't going to bring in any money for a long time."

Margaret sighed. "If you are suggesting Surina investment," she said, "I can't funnel money to you through any of our regular channels-not quickly, at any rate. It's too risky, and we can't have anyone suspect that I've put you up to this. For now, you must be a completely independent third party in these negotiations." The bodhisattva glanced over her shoulder at the big man with the blonde ponytail standing in the doorway, and suddenly Natch wondered if he was there to keep others out or to keep Natch in. "There is an entirely different dance I have to perform here with all the different Surina organizations. Let us just say that some here do not appreciate radical moves."

"So you expect me to hit the ground running with no money, and put together a perfect prototype in a couple of weeks."

"Within a week, yes. But I'm not worried, Natch. If I had the slightest doubt you could find the money to do this, you wouldn't be here."

Natch shook his head and snorted in amusement. "I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish."

The descendant of Sheldon Surina leaned forward and touched her lips to her clasped fingers. "Things were not supposed to turn out this way," she said quietly. "You are the contingency plan."

Natch stood up, put his palms flat on the table, and leaned forward with a smoldering stare. "Let's get one thing clear," he hissed. "I am not your contingency plan. If I get involved in this, it'll be for my own reasons. Because you claim I can make a lot of money, and I believe you. If things get too dangerous-for me-or if I think the credits aren't worth the risk-then I'll pull out of this whole thing without a second thought and leave you stranded. I'll be a dead man before I get involved in a scheme like this to save your hide from the Defense and Wellness Council." He turned to face the burly Islander, as if to say, That goes for you too.

Margaret had no reaction. She was beyond affectation right now. "I will forward to you what little information I can at this point," she said in a hoarse monotone.

The entrepreneur nodded and fired another quick glance at the Islander. The big man was smiling openly now. Whatever test he and Margaret had just administered, Natch had passed it with panache.

"Why don't you ask Horvil?" said Serr Vigal.

Natch shook his head. "He's got plenty of credits, but there's no way he can move that kind of money without his Aunt Berilla finding out about it. And she'd rather slice off her own arm than invest in me."

"Another fiefcorp, then. Pierre Loget. Or Lucas Sentinel."

"Sentinel?" spat the fiefcorp master, as if the name were a curse word in a foreign tongue. "Are you kidding? He's still furious at Jara. And don't forget that when I pushed the Patel Brothers down to the number two spot on Primo's, Sentinel's company fell to number three. Loget doesn't like me any better."

"What about that financier you met with all those years ago? He said he liked you, didn't he?"

"Figaro Fi? He joined the Prepared a year and a half ago, Vigal. He's probably dead by now."

Serr Vigal pursed his lips and made a noise of dismissal. Thppt. He got slowly to his feet and ambled over to the window, which was showing some beachside resort full of bronzed children laughing and throwing sand at one another. A welcome change from the dreary November Omaha rain. "I can help you a little bit, of course," said the neural programmer. "The memecorp has some extra equipment lying around that I can lend you. But I just don't have the kind of money you're talking about."

"Which leaves me back where I started," said Natch with disgust. "The capitalmen." He kicked at a tuft of carpet and scowled at the frolicking children through the window. No self-respecting capitalman would lend him such a large sum of money for a project he couldn't even define. They wouldn't care that he ran the number two company on Primo's, or that he was working on Margaret Surina's fabled Phoenix Project-they would just ask to see the specs. Natch couldn't blame them. Margaret had no track record to boast of, no prior business successes to point to. All she had was the Surina family reputation. And that reputation hadn't helped anyone recoup their losses from TeleCo, had it?

"This is my worst nightmare, Vigal," Natch moaned. He waved his hand at the screen and changed the display right under Serr Vigal's nose. His guardian blinked in mild surprise as the beach made way for the trading pit of some Melbourne financial exchange. "The biggest opportunity of my life, and I can't make it happen. Nobody will invest until Margaret unveils the technology at the end of next week. But then it'll be too late. I won't have the resources to get this prototype up and running in time."

Serr Vigal rubbed his goatee quietly for a few minutes, deep in thought. "I wonder what this Phoenix Project really is."

"Margaret said she started out with memory enhancers. You know neural programming, Vigal-where could she go from there?"

"In sixteen years? Just about anywhere."

"Well, it has to be a neurological program, doesn't it? She must have looked at my background-she must know I apprenticed with you. She must know the bulk of our catalog is devoted to optics and mental processes. DeMirage 54, EyeMorph 66a, Mento Calc-U-Later 93.9, NiteFocus 50c-I could go on and on. Why else would she come to me?"

"Why indeed?" said Vigal. "There are hundreds of fiefcorps and memecorps out there capable of handling a project like this. And most of them have more experience in this business than you, not to mention greater resources."

"She said she wanted someone with a flair for showmanship."

"And do you believe her?"

"Stop being so-so elliptical. If you think something's going on here, then just come right out and say it."

Vigal leaned against the viewscreen, screwing up his face with courage. "I don't think anything," he muttered. "I simply fear."

"And what do you fear?"

"I fear that Margaret has picked you for this enterprise because she thinks she can manipulate you." The neural programmer took a long, sad look at the traders tussling with one another on the Melbourne exchange floor. Undoubtedly, most of them were only multi projections, but that did not make the scene any less violent or chaotic to behold.

Natch felt the old alienation swooping down on him and constricting his lungs. He snarled angrily, poking a virtual finger into his guardian's chest. "And so what if she thinks she can manipulate me? That doesn't change anything. I've still got to find a way to get into the Phoenix Project, or I'll never get out of this ... this horse race on Primo's."

"And do you know that this Phoenix Project of Margaret's is a panacea for your problems? I worry that you're throwing everything aside for some vague business venture when you don't even know what it is."