David Edelman - Infoquake

A representation of Isaac Newton, on permanent loan from Creed Elan ... A bronzed effigy of Tobi Jae Witt, owned jointly by Creeds Bushido and Dao ... A sculpture of Albert Einstein that Creed Conscientious had lent to the Surinas while their new administrative facility was under construction.

The scientist statues in the Surina Center for Historic Appreciation.

This couldn't really be happening, could it? Len Borda couldn't be so brazen as to march into the Surina compound with such a minuscule figleaf of an excuse, could he? The security chief gazed past Tanis at the row upon row of motionless Council officers, and saw not a single smile or good-natured smirk. Politics, thought the security chief bitterly. How many times have I complained to Margaret that she isn't keeping up good relations with the other creeds? And what did the Council offer those other bodhisattvas to make them roll over so easily?

The security chief cast a sidelong glance at the inadequate forces under his command. Inexperienced boys and girls, really. The teeth of the green-and-blue soldier beside him were chattering uncontrollably.

"Stand down," said the commander of the Surina security forces with a sigh.

Tanis nodded and signaled her officers to enter the gates. The security chief watched gloomily as the white armada sailed through the gates and up the path towards the courtyard. None of them, he noticed, were headed for the Center for Historic Appreciation.

Natch thought he was still enveloped in the haze of multivoid when his field of vision turned white. Then he realized that his transmission to Andra Pradesh had gone through after all, and the white glare was the sun's reflection off a Council officer's steely dartgun.

The main courtyard was crawling with figures in white robes where Natch had expected blue and green. The few Surina employees in view were milling about aimlessly, trying to maintain the facade that they were still in charge. Yet the Council troops showed no sign of interfering. Their only agenda at this point, it appeared, was to stand with dart-rifles drawn and act menacing. If they intended to stop people from watching Margaret's presentation, they could do little from the courtyard; even the thickest Council thug had to know that standard crowd control procedures for an event like this would confine all multi projections to inside the auditorium.

Natch scooted quickly along the fence, hoping to make it unnoticed to the Center for Historic Appreciation. But he was not destined for such luck. Two officers immediately zeroed in and corralled him into a corner. As they scrutinized him, Natch waited for the officers to say something-didn't the Council troops in the dramas always say your identification, please or state your name and business?-but they kept eerily silent. He supposed they could gather all the information they needed by feeding his image through the jaws of their vast intelligence databases. Speech was superfluous.

"There you are," growled a voice. "Leave this one alone. He's with me."

Two arms brusquely made a path between the Council officers, into which stepped Margaret's mysterious Islander. His scruffy tunic and wild ponytail stood out like a scar in a courtyard full of crisp white uniforms. Natch didn't know whether to feel scared or comforted when the man put an arm across Natch's chest, like a parent claiming a wayward child.

The larger of the two Council officers eyed the Islander's copper collar with disdain. "So this is Margaret's Islander," he said, elbowing his cohort in the side. "Remember the one with the ponytail that came at us down in Manila? Looked just like this one."

His fellow officer let out a malicious chuckle. "I remember," she said. "Shot him full of darts. Bastard just kept coming."

"Finally had to crack his skull, right?"

The Islander maintained his composure and did not take the bait. "I'll bet he had a stack of Council officers' corpses lying next to him when you finally took him down, too."

"Better watch your manners, unconnectible," sneered the Council man, clearly irritated at the Islander's demeanor. "You're not in the Pacific anymore. Without this, we could have you begging for mercy in two minutes." Then he fearlessly reached one hand up and flicked his finger against the collar.

Before the ping of the vibrating metal had faded away, the Islander was in motion.

Natch had never seen anyone move so fast. One second, the Islander was standing at rest; the next, he had zipped around and placed the offending officer in a chokehold. The second guard reached for her dartgun in a panic, but it was too late. The Islander had already lifted her comrade's weapon from its sheath and aimed it squarely at her forehead. "Ah," he hissed savagely, "but which one of you is going to take it away from me?"

Within seconds, officers all over the courtyard were scrambling towards them with weapons drawn. Natch had never actually faced the barrel of a Defense and Wellness Council dartgun before; now he found himself facing at least thirty of them. The fact that he was present only as a multi projection was slight comfort. It became less comforting still when Natch realized that several of the dartguns pointed at him were actually multi disruptors.

The Islander shook off the tension with a dismissive snort. He released the officer from the crook of his arm and shoved him roughly towards his companions, tossing the dartgun on the ground as an afterthought. Then he flipped his ponytail over one shoulder and parted another path in the crowd as if nothing had happened. "Well?" he called to Natch. "Are you coming or not?" The entrepreneur forced his knocking knees to follow. Scores of Council eyeballs watched in silence as the two walked briskly through the courtyard and into the Center for Historic Appreciation. Natch let out a loud breath of relief as soon as the doors closed behind them.

The atrium was empty of visitors, except for two Council guards standing idly against the wall discussing baseball. Neither gave Natch or the Islander so much as a glance as they threaded their way between the scientist statues and headed down one of the corridors.

"Bloody tracking devices," muttered the Islander. "Do they think we actually want to wear these fucking things?" He reached up with one hand and tugged at the collar as if about to fling it boomerangstyle down the hallway. Natch noticed for the first time that the collar was not actually suspended in air, but balanced on the man's neck over a fine latticework of metallic thread. The contraption looked hideously uncomfortable.

"Did you say that thing is a tracking device?" asked Natch, struggling to keep up with the Islander's giant strides.

"Of course it's a tracking device. Why else would they make them so fucking conspicuous? You can see an Islander with a collar from a kilometer away."

Natch was usually not interested in cross-border politics. But he had to keep this strange man talking, if only so he might figure out his relation to Margaret and the Phoenix Project. "But you need those outside the Islands," he said. "How else you going to survive out here without OCHREs?"

Halfway up a flight of stairs, the Islander stopped dead in his tracks. "You've got a lot to learn about your governments, boy." He reached into his pocket with a scowl and dug out a small disc the size of an ancient coin. "See this little device? You can pin it to your collar, or wear it on a string around your neck. Made from spare parts, and you can see multi projections with it, interact with bio/logic code. Explain that to me."

Natch eyed the circle with embarrassment. "So why aren't you wearing that thing instead?"

Margaret's Islander gazed at Natch with an unspoken accusation of gullibility hovering just behind his eyes. "Because wearing these collars is the law if you're an Islander," he sneered. "And if you don't obey the law, you get visits from the Defense and Wellness Council and the Prime Committee and fuck knows who else." Then he slipped the disc back into his tunic and kept climbing the stairs.