Multireal (34 page)

Friday began with a death threat and only degenerated from there.

Jara received the message only minutes after confirming her reservation for an auditorium at the Surina Enterprise Facility. The threat
was written in a hackneyed Cyrillic font that only the uneducated or
imbecilic would find sinister.

COME TO CASED Su51wii LW1D WC WILL KILL 4OU
JUST LIKE 4OU KILLED MAAGWIEUT

The analyst sighed and beseeched Berilla's ceiling for deliverance
from craven anonymity. She knew the wise course was to ignore the
message altogether and let Surina security deal with any errant assassins. Isn't that what Natch would do? Instead, Jara lay on the vinyl
couch and ruminated on the issue for twenty minutes. Was it in poor
taste to discuss the dispensation of Margaret Surina's business in her
own auditorium? Or was it a fitting tribute? Jara couldn't tell.

She decided to cancel the reservation and move the press conference to a Creed Objectivv auditorium instead. It was her first real decision as de facto master of the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp.
Already she felt like a failure.

Jara stretched, corralled her wayward hair the best she could, then
shambled down the hall in search of food. The servants she passed gave
her curt nods, but none of her etiquette training had prepared her for how
to respond. We're crashing in someone's house without permission because our company's founder has been murdered and our company itself is on the rocks. Should
we be grateful that Berilla hasn't kicked us out yet, or irritated that she hasn't
been more welcoming? Jara decided on the former and quickly scoured the
Data Sea for an appropriately humble expression to throw on her face.

But if dealing with the household staff was awkward, that was
nothing compared to dealing with her own staff.

When Jara finally stumbled into the kitchen, she found Horvil,
Merri, Benyamin, and Vigal already assembled and sporting looks of
weary fortitude. They all clammed up the instant she rounded the corner.
She supposed they were trying to make sense of the scene in the parlor
yesterday, trying to figure out why Natch had made such an abrupt departure and whether he was really gone for good. But what could she say?
What could she tell them that wouldn't sound petty and self-serving?

Jara poured a cup of nitro from the carafe on the counter. "All
right," she said. "Let's get started. Let's fix some things."

Nobody responded. Four pairs of eyes watched her and waited.

Willing herself to be calm, Jara took her nitro over to a barstool and
sat. "First things first. Has anybody tried to track down Quell yet?"

"Council still isn't saying anything," said Horvil glumly. "They've
probably taken him to the orbital prisons by now."

"Well, we're going to need him. Try again. See if you can find out
where he is."

The engineer leaned back in his chair and wedged one chubby knee
against the edge of the table. "How?" he said. "You think Len Borda'll
answer a Confidential Whisper?"

"Not today, please, Horv," sighed Jara, chugging down her cup of
nitro and immediately getting up for a refill. "I have no idea what happened to Quell. But the Defense and Wellness Council has to have a
public relations liaison or something who can point you in the right
direction. If all else fails, just follow the drudges."

Horvil nodded. Jara wasn't sure she could trust him to find anything-he hadn't exactly pulled out all the stops to locate Natch after
his disappearance a few weeks ago-but she couldn't afford to spend
any more of her mental reserve worrying about it. She moved on.

"So can we still work on MultiReal?" continued Jara. "Did Quell
or Margaret leave any documentation behind?"

The engineer pursed his lips. "Technically. But if you think my
notes are hard to follow, you should see theirs. Might take me years to
wade through all that crap."

"Well, do the best you can. Ben, where are we with the rollback
issue?"

"Handled," said the young apprentice, trying his best to avoid
looking Jara in the eye. "Well, it'll be handled soon. I called in a few
favors on the floor, and it looks like the `sabotage' was a little
overblown. A few pranks here and there. I think we'll have everything
back to normal in about a week."

"And ... your mother?"

Ben shrugged. "She's not interfering."

Jara exhaled in relief. A lack of interference from Berilla was about
the best she could hope for at this point. She remembered the puzzled and
fearful look the matriarch had given her yesterday after Natch stormed
out of her office; Jara could only guess what she had been thinking.

"Now ... Merri and Vigal." The analyst turned to face the pair.
"I'd like you two onstage during the press conference this afternoon.
Otherwise it'll just be me and Robby Robby up there-not the most
trustworthy people in the world right now." The two fiefcorpers
nodded, their faces barren of emotion. Jara was trying to make a joke,
but now she realized it hadn't come out like that.

"I can't believe you're actually going through with this stupid
press conference," said Benyamin in characteristically high dudgeon.
"We don't have a working product. We don't have a fiefcorp master.
Shit, Jara, you're the only person with a business license from the
Meme Cooperative right now. What are you going to say?"

"I'm not going to say much of anything, if I can help it," snapped
Jara. "The point is not what I say. The point is that I'm going out there
and saying it. I'm giving notice."

"Notice of what? That Natch is gone?"

"No, I don't want to spill that for a few more days, until things calm down a little. I'm just giving notice that the Surina/Natch Fiefcorp has changed. That we're an honest company now.,,

"So ... you're going to tell the drudges we're an honest company,
and then you're going to mislead them by implying that Natch is still
running it?"

The irony slapped Jara in the face and made her blush. She hadn't
thought of it that way. Benyamin grimaced and shut up.

"Listen," said the analyst, her fingernails plowing long, tired rows
on her scalp. "I'm not trying to get this business going again just as a
matter of principle. Don't forget, while your business licenses are suspended, the fiefcorp can't pay you. Now Horvil and Benyamin might
be able to weather a few thousand years without a fiefcorp stipend-"

"Presuming Aunt Berilla doesn't cut us off," muttered Horvil.

"-but I'm willing to bet Vigal and Merri can't. I certainly
couldn't. So unless we get this business rolling soon, some of us could
be in a real heap of trouble."

Jara guzzled down her third cup of nitro, well on her way to a personal best. She discarded the cup on the counter and surveyed her
fellow fiefcorpers. The room felt cloistered, devoid of oxygen, and the
Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp felt more like a mythical entity than
a viable business. Why can't I inspire this company the way Natch does?
thought the analyst. What am I doing wrong?

"All right," she said finally, realizing that the rest of the fiefcorpers
were waiting for a word of dismissal. "Let's get to it."

If the vibe at Berilla's estate was one of dejection, the vibe backstage at
Creed Objectivv was more upbeat, thanks to Robby Robby's relentless
optimism. The channeler was indeed a wonder. It seemed like some
divine force had wound him up forty years ago and left him to cruise
in a smooth, unbroken line ever since. Jara wondered if he'd ever expe rienced a moment of doubt, whether he'd ever had a cheating companion or a malicious boss or a friend who had lied to him.

Robby poked his head around the corner at the crowd of murmuring drudges in the auditorium. "Looking pretty grim out there,
eh, Frizzy?" he said.

The channeler's young sidekick Frizitz Quo hung on his elbow like
a purse. "I thought you said grim was your specialty, boss," he replied.

"It is!" grinned Robby, walking over to hook his other elbow with
Jara's. "Give me a grim and uncooperative audience, Mistress Jara. I'll
give you grim and uncooperative customers!"

Jara smiled weakly. With everything happening in the fiefcorp-
not to mention the world-how could Robby and Friz still maintain
the same smooth facade? Sure, their channeling firm had other horses
in its stable. But Robby had to know that an opportunity like MultiReal only came along once in a lifetime.

"Everybody ready?" said the channeler.

Merri and Serr Vigal walked up, their faces shellacked with
bio/logically generated calm. "Sure," said Merri.

Jara looked at the apprentice's jacket pocket and saw nothing but
fabric. "Aren't you going to wear your Objectivv pin?"

Merri shook her head. "I've been suspended from the creed,
remember?"

The analyst felt the blood draining from her face. No, in fact, she
had totally forgotten. She took a surreptitious peek around Robby's
hair to the giant black-and-white swirl embossed on the stage just a
few meters away. "I'm so sorry, Merri," she said, sotto voce. "Should
we-do you want to-"

Merri cut her off with a brusque wave of the hand. "I'll be fine,"
she said.

"Time to go!" bellowed Robby, and before Jara could recover her
composure, they were onstage.

As she stepped into the spotlight, Jara realized that she should have held this press conference at the Surina Enterprise Facility after
all. Objectivv auditoriums were notoriously free of adornment, and
this one was no exception. A stage, a podium, a few thousand seats:
that was all. No subtle SeeNaRee effects, no soporific Jamm music in
the background. Under ordinary circumstances, that would have
suited Jara just fine. But there was a cloud of anger wafting through
the crowd of three thousand drudges that didn't bode well for the presentation. Not even Robby's minions stationed around the auditorium
were able to dispel the haze of distrust in the air.

Robby Robby took center stage, while Jara, Vigal, Merri, and Frizitz
lined up dutifully behind him. Robby's previous expression of levity had
been replaced by a look so solemn it approached the funereal.

"Towards Perfection to you all," said Robby to the crowd. "It's
good to see so many of you here under such trying circumstances.
We're still a little disorganized after the last infoquake-but heck, I
guess it's been that way for everyone. We're going to do the best we
can to give you some answers and just hope things aren't too rough
around the edges.

"And now, without further ado, I'd like to turn the stage over to
someone many of you have worked with before. I present Jara of the
Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp."

The smattering of light applause hit Jara like birdshot. She took a
deep breath, stepped into the spot Robby had just vacated, and clasped
her hands together on the podium in what she hoped was the stance of
an honest businesswoman. She looked at the crowd: women, men,
frowns, grimaces, scowls.

"Towards Perfection," said Jara. "I stand before you today as a representative of the Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp, and I'm asking for
your trust."

Light muttering, uncomfortable shifts from the audience. Someone
tittered.

Jara felt her stomach lurch. It had sounded like a great beginning when she practiced it this morning at Berilla's estate. Jara immediately
realized what was wrong: she had written a statement tailored for
Natch to deliver. She scrolled madly up and down the little speech
floating before her eyes, looking for something confident she could say
in her own voice, and came up empty.

Five seconds passed. Ten. A ConfidentialWhisper from Robby:
"Mistress Jara ... ?"

Flustered, Jara segued into the more prosaic statement she had
been holding for a backup. The Surina/Natch MultiReal Fiefcorp was
deeply saddened by the news of Margaret Surina's death. Natch had
heard the dreadful tidings directly from the Council's chief solicitor,
but the fiefcorp didn't have any more information about the circumstances than anyone else. Margaret's contributions to science and
humanity were incalculable. Doubtless she would be remembered as
the greatest of the Surinas.

Jara paused, wishing she could call an end to the whole thing right
there. "Any questions?" she said.

A florid Sen Sivv Sor stepped to the front of the crowd, and the
crowd held its breath. Jara wondered what kind of wrangling and infighting and backroom deal-swapping the drudges used to determine
their pecking order. She couldn't imagine any valuation system that
would put carrion crows like Sen Sivv Sor and John Ridglee at the top.
And yet, somehow, they always were.

Sor fixed Jara with a deadly stare. The red birthmark on his forehead glowered at her like an accusation. "Did Natch arrange to have
Margaret Surina murdered?" he said, his voice a serrated blade.

Jara was prepared for the question, but not the vehemence of the
questioner. "No, of course not," she replied. "Natch and Margaret
always had a perfectly friendly and professional relationship. I can't
imagine why Natch would have wanted to hurt her."