David Edelman - Infoquake

"So I went searching again.

"First, I went to the medical specialists. Hack the body, and the mind will follow-isn't that what Sheldon Surina said? But can you believe what a superstitious world we live in, Natch? The Autonomous Revolt was hundreds of years ago-and yet the Prime Committee still won't allow a simple tank-grown limb! The only place for human flesh is on the human body, they say." His voice rumbled up to a dangerous level, as if he were playing to the rafters in some imaginary amphitheater.

"So they gave me the next best thing." And then, as Natch looked on in horror, Brone unsnapped his fake arm and thrust it onto the table, where it landed on the bleu cheese with a sickening thwup. A circle of plastic prongs shone wetly on the end of Brone's stump, like octopus teeth. "Completely self-contained, no nerves or blood required: a miracle of engineering. You would be surprised to know how quickly one can tweak it to work in MindSpace like a bio/logic programming bar. And, of course, having an artificial limb gives one certain ... advantages." When the fingers of the disembodied hand began twitching of their own accord, Natch leapt back and nearly sprawled on his face again. The fingers tore through the rind of the cheese and performed a gooey dance, spackling the floor with bits of white.

Natch felt sick. He recognized his own ruthless utilitarian tactics at work. What was it that old Kordez Thassel had said? Do not let taboos and social restrictions stop you from gaining advantage over your enemy. OCHREs rushed to defuse the acid in his stomach, and Natch would have supplemented their soothing effects with a bio/logic program if he thought it would help. "I-I came here today," he stuttered, "to-"

Brone completely ignored him. "So the replacement arm and the replacement eye were dead ends," he said with a shrug. "I knew as soon as they were installed that I had been using my handicap as an escape. It was an easy way to distract me from what I really wanted to do, from the one thing that would make me happy.

"And that was killing you."

Natch edged back, flailing his arm behind him in search of the door. He realized with dismay that it had vanished. He didn't want to know anymore why Brone had invited him here this morning, or what his interest in the Phoenix Project was; Natch just wanted out. But the diamond walls completely surrounded him now. He was trapped.

Brone leaned back in his throne and regarded Natch with sepulchral eyes, like someone watching from a separate plane of existence. The disembodied forearm began tapping out a mad rhythm on the cheese plate. "I spent months planning the whole scenario. I followed you around, Natch, did you know that? I scouted out a thousand locations for the perfect ambush. Should I follow you to Cisco and shoot you down in the forest? Or plug you full of black code on a sidestreet in London? Or just push you off your own balcony in Shenandoah and be done with it?"

Natch rubbed his back against the diamond wall and did not breathe. The door had to be there somewhere ... if he could just pierce the veil of this confounded SeeNaRee....

"But don't worry, Natch," said Brone, his voice one big sneer. "You're not in any danger here today." He spread his hand and stump wide in a conciliatory gesture. His smile was the smile of a ghoul. "You see, I have found religion."

The fiefcorp master stared at his old enemy, not comprehending. "The Bodhisattva of Creed Thassel," Natch croaked under his breath. "Where is he?"

Brone gave a long and uncomfortable pause, like a robot in suspended animation. "I am the Bodhisattva of Creed Thassel," he said at last.

It took a minute for the words to penetrate Natch's defenses. He turned them around in his head, breaking them down into small digestible pieces to try and make sense of them. Brone the head of the Thasselians?

Before he could get a grip on the situation, the SeeNaRee changed.

Suddenly, they were hurtling through black space in a small starcraft not much bigger than the Falcon that transported them home from initiation all those years ago. Rocks and chunks of ice whizzed by at breakneck speed. Natch looked out the starboard window just in time to see an asteroid the size of a tube train hurtle past them, missing the ship by half a meter.

"I could turn you in to the Prime Committee," Natch gasped. "You can't hide exits like that. It's against the law. And you can't just switch environments on the fly without giving me fair warning."

Brone sat back in his padded captain's chair, toying idly with the steering panel that rose before him from the floor like a metallic mushroom. He did not react at all to the first asteroid collision, which made the rickety craft shudder as if it were a few bolts away from completely collapsing. "How ironic," Brone croaked. "Natch threatening to turn me over to the law? Here at Creed Thassel, we take a more laissez-faire approach to laws. As old Kordez used to say, Rules are for those who follow rules. "

"But-" The rusted hull of a dead spaceship slammed into the side of their craft, sending Natch sprawling onto the floor once again with his teeth chattering. He bit the inside of his cheek with an audible chomp. Brone remained comfortably seated, and Natch noted that the disembodied arm sat motionless on the table. Yet another infraction, thought the fiefcorp master bitterly. Inconsistent laws of physics.

"Creed Thassel was really in abysmal shape when I found it," continued Brone, studying the fingernails of his good hand intently. "You'd be surprised how many people think Creed Thassel ceased to exist twenty years ago. There was that expose by Sen Sivv Sor. Financial scandals. A real paucity of leadership. The imbeciles running the organization were even on the brink of losing control of the Kordez Thassel Complex. So when I got religion, Natch, I got it for a real bargain-basement price. They needed my money. They needed my vision and my initiative."

Cosmic debris continued to slam into the ship, leaving Natch huddled on the floor with his hands over his head. OCHREs had already staunched the bleeding in his mouth, but he couldn't help probing the scar with his tongue. He knew he cut quite a ridiculous figure to his old rival, but survival was all he cared about at this point.

"Forgive me," sighed the bodhisattva, his voice devoid of supplication. "I suppose I've gotten carried away." He waved his hand in the air-the hand of flesh and bone-and the cluttered field of debris outside the ship vanished. The virtual gravity stabilized. "So let us discuss business, you and I."

Natch warily got to his feet and brushed himself off. It seemed strange that an hour ago, the only thing occupying his mind was his dire need for capital. Now suddenly, he was treading water in a sea of old landmines. "Do I have any choice?" he muttered.

"Game playing!" shouted Brone abruptly, his eyes ablaze. He arose from the chair and stood at the port window, his stump resting wearily against the glass. "All these games we've played throughout the years, you and I. And this whole setup-the invitation, the SeeNaRee, throwing the arm on the table-just another move in the game. A way to put you off guard. But believe it or not, after all the hurt and pain and suffering you have caused me, Natch, I am capable of forgiving you."

Natch gritted his teeth. Forgiving me for what? he thought.

"Soon, we will all be moving beyond games," continued Brone. "All of us ... you, me, the drudges, Horvil, the idiots at the Defense and Wellness Council, all those narrow-minded bean counters at Primo's. Soon, it will make no difference who the winners and losers are."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about Margaret Surina, of course. I'm talking about the Phoenix Project'." Natch could practically hear the belittling quotation marks.