“Wait a minutes. This is insane!” Laif Jones-Egret bolted to his feet. “Are you interested in what is really going on up here, or just the media’s version? Since when has anyone believed the media?”
“It’s a little late to worry about PR, Jones.” The holo of the tall, thin-faced Quebecoise stared at him, her expression icy. “Your little riot ended up broadcast live in the World Council chamber yesterday just as they were discussing the topic of World Council intervention on your platform.”
Your platform. Usually it was our platform with the implication that it was really her platform. Besides, he was just there to do as he was told by Madame Fournier, chairman of the North American Alliance’s Committee for Orbital Affairs. As she frequently reminded him.
“We are far from pleased with your handling of the situation.”
“It was just that … a situation.” Laif hung onto his temper with both hands. “It was one man … an agitator we’ve had trouble with for the past few weeks. He shows up, starts trouble. He’s a professional, Fournier. This whole ‘rebellion’ rumor is somebody’s doing, and intervention was what that somebody is after. So who wins when the Council intervenes?”
He met her cold blue stare, keeping his voice flat and calm with an effort. “You’re down there in the sea of world politics. Who has a stake in this mess?”
“This is not a matter of global conspiracy.” She looked down her long Gallic nose at him.
“Crap, it’s not.”
“This is a matter of local unrest, fomented by the misfits who regularly gain citizenship on New York Up and are allowed freedom by your lax security policies. We have pressured you for years now to institute a narrower window of tolerance, something along the lines of the strict immigration policy instituted by the platform of New Singapore.”
“Now there’s a platform that’s on the brink of explosive rebellion,” Laif snapped. “It’s as repressive as any dictatorship in Earth’s history. The Prime’s jail cells are listed as hotel rooms on the stats, and from what I’ve heard, some people go back downside without benefit of the Elevator.”
“And it is Madame Fournier to you,” the committee head went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Give me a good reason why we should not simply recall you and appoint your Administrative Assistant as your replacement?”
“Because within a week you’d really have reason to call in the CSF.” Laif gripped the back of his chair, struggling for calm. “You don’t know what’s going on up here. You don’t know how things work up here. This is not Toronto. This is not Washington, DC. This is a different place with its own rules and its own type of people. My … assistant doesn’t understand this world. I have no idea why he wants to be up here, or why you think he’s competent for the job.”
“I am surprised that you bring up the topic of competency.” Fournier gave him a Montreal-in-January smile.
“Damn it, you need to look beyond me for the cause of this problem, and you need to do it now, because someone has an agenda up here, and you’ll do just what they want if you recall me.”
“I expect to hear that you have the situation under control before the CSF arrives. They are on their way, thanks to you.
Good day, Mr. Jones.” She vanished, leaving only the shimmer of an empty holo-field.
“Damn!” Laif lunged to his feet, his chair toppling. “Damn, damn, damn!”
“What happened?” Barachat, his young aide stuck his head in the door. “Is the system down?” He peered anxiously at the holo shimmer.
“Yeah, the system is down, and no the holo-field is working just fine.” Laif stalked across the tiny cubical. “I’m about to get recalled, Bar. They’re going to put Arlin in charge here.”
“You’re farting, right?” Barachat, with the slender, supple build of a second generation upsider raised his eyebrows. “Are they nuts? He’s as downside as you get. He’ll have the Con blowing up in a day. Maybe it’ll take two days if he stays shut up in his room and doesn’t do anything.”
“They don’t know what’s going on up here and damned if they’re going to listen to me.” Laif leaned on his desk. “This is a set-up. Who the hell is behind it? It’s costing someone big-time to plant as many talking heads in the Con as you say we’ve got.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Barachat shook his head, his dark eyes thoughtful. “They’re hard to spot and harder to shut down and it’s a big operation. Somebody paid a lot for state of the art. There’s big money behind this.”
Laif straightened, feeling tired, feeling old, damn it, and he wasn’t that old, not really. “Where’s a communication failure when we need it?” He looked up at the ceiling. “Like something to cut us off for a bit, before I get my orders to go downside and the pet spy-eye gets promoted to replace me? Which is going to happen any minute now.”
“Yeah.” Barachat rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That kind of thing doesn’t happen too often. There is one nice little bottleneck that can really shut down all our communications. Course there’s a backup.” He inspected his fingernails with a contemplative expression. “But we’re only required to test the backup yearly and that was about nine months ago. Who knows? It might fail.”
“Bless you,” Laif murmured under his breath. “Just don’t leave any traces.”
“I’m better than that.” With a flip of his fingers, Barachat left the cubicle.
Well, that bought him some time, but not much. Just until the CSF showed up. He shook his head and left, hoping that Barachat was right about not getting caught. In all likelihood, he, Laif, wasn’t going to be in any position to do much for him if he did. Leaving the administrative offices he strode down the quiet back corridor, stopping to greet the few people in sight. The small private elevator was about halfway down the hall, next to a public restroom and shower. He slowed his pace, surreptitiously watching the few people in the corridor. If you weren’t close, you couldn’t tell if someone entered the elevator or the shower. Casually he palmed the lock and stepped into the ’vator. Sent it up to the top. “Nilsson, you’d better have some options for me,” he murmured as it shot upward. “Or we’re both in trouble.”
The CSF would have to come up the climbers and shuttle over. If Bar was right about being able to crash the communications for awhile, he’d still be Admin when they arrived. The ’vator slowed and beeped and he grabbed for the dangling straps, locked one around him.
The damn kid was waiting for him. They gave him the creeps, all of them, with their weird, blind-looking eyes and bones like plastic. Laif pushed out of the ‘vator, flipped the kid a few fingers. He’d seen the DNA analysis on these things, knew they were as human as he was, knew Nilsson was probably right in his guesses but … he still didn’t like ’em.
Which meant Nilsson was probably right about what would happen to them, too.
He was usually right. “Okay, where is he?” he hollered at the kid.
“In the control center. Come on.” The kid did a series of complicated tumbles.
Designed to show Laif just how lame he was, Laif thought sourly. He didn’t need the kid as a guide to the control center, managed to get there without stranding himself between
handholds, too, even though they crossed a big stretch of bare, newly planted tubes. No way he was going to ask that thing for a tow.
Nilsson was waiting for him, drifting in front of the control center bulk. “You look grim.” He narrowed his eyes. “What happened.”
The man’s intuition was impressive, Laif thought. He’d checked his stats and his E rating was low, but he’d swear sometimes that the man was at least a Class Eight or Nine empath. “The Council voted to take over and send up CSF. They’re on their way.” He bit the words off, anchoring himself on a tube planted to purple and white flowers.
“They should have been two votes short.” Nilsson’s face gave nothing away. “Who changed sides?”
“I don’t know. They didn’t release the voting details. I suspect that by now, I’m already formally relieved of my duties,” he said. “But we have this communications problem, so I can’t find that out right now.” He checked his watch. “I figure we’ve got about twenty-four hours to find out who’s behind this.”
“China.”
“What?” Laif stared. “Come again?”
“This mess is going to cost the NAA politically,” Dane said. “China is their main rival. And Li Zhen is involved in the unrest.”
“Huang!” Laif slapped his forehead, grabbed for a handhold. “That damn wildcard bitch. I wondered why the hell she was playing tourist up here.”
“Not her.” Nilsson snapped. “Her brother Xai Huang.”
Blood was thicker than water, Laif thought. “I’ll get Security on it. We’ll pull a visual from the media and watch every vid eye in the can. If he uses a public bathroom, or sticks his nose into a corridor we’ll get him. Keep in touch, okay?” He pushed off, not waiting for Nilsson’s reply and kicked back to the elevator. Connected on his private link to Barachat. “Get Security. We’ve got a wildcard staying in a hotel here. Huang is the surname. Female. Pick her up right now.” It was a start. She knew something that would lead to her
brother and by all the gods he’d know who was doing what for whom and why before the CSF blew down the door.
Dane watched Laif push awkwardly toward the private elevator. Everything they had worked for was about to come apart. He had to talk to Li Zhen. Their only hope was that China could—and would—back the Council off. Dane pulled himself into the control center. Koi was waiting for him, his distress bright and abrasive in the air. “Get Ahni for me, will you?”
“You want me to tell her Laif’s gonna send Security after her?”
“Yes,” Dane said bitterly. “He didn’t listen to me.” He scowled as the empty holo-field remained just that … fog.
“I overrode her mail filter with an emergency code.” Koi sounded puzzled. “Her hotel majordomo should have waked her up by now.”
“Damn.” Dane clenched his fist. “Laif guessed I’d warn her.” He let his breath out in a sigh. Born in the sub rosa street culture in downside New York Metro, Laif had learned trust late in life … and it was a veneer he shed quickly under stress. “Damn,” he repeated softly. He was not doing well, right now, not making good guesses.