Chapter 14


The spy arrived three hours too late to change history. Sergey Rubech from "Decentralized Solutions" (last week they had been "Udocureg", the week before that nothing) strode out of the sliding elevator, where he had been jogging in place. His assistant Lana chatted with a friend while reading articles about the building and pretending to watch a Net serial.
  Adjusting his semi-casual power suit, Sergey reminded himself everyone here was a star. All the interns belonged in style magazines. At least Lana looked the part, an icy blonde who manipulated politicians with new forms of bribery. She lived in the moment, as if her life was a sim. Her religion (she was its only member) forbade her from talking to Sergey. He chatted intermittently in his microphone in case someone was watching.
  He usually looked overwhelmed, and often shocked, but Sergey could spot talent better than anyone he knew. A brilliant, almost hypnotic listener, he was drawn to unpredictable behavior. The interaction made him feel alive. He called himself "Angel Hunter".
  His job was only to spot the talent. Skilled headhunters then lured them away using any legal method, mostly jealousy and money.
  His first and greatest discovery had been synthetic designer food, which remained illegal. "Protein Sushi 4J" resembled a pile of plastic toys, and smelled like burning kerosene. He had allowed himself one bite before pushing the plate aside with trembling hands. He hadn't known his perception could be this intense, more meaningful than one year of his life. His brain could instantly generate an experience it could never anticipate, a universe of sensations. The problem was finding the right switch.
  He lived in a society of informers. When the cops had called during the Zondyne event, Sergey knew at once he would have to get involved. He wished them good luck, and waited for instructions.
  Somewhere in the Asian idea shops, in a nondescript building on a narrow street, in an industrial slum or a prefab park, was potentially the most influential human who had ever lived. Sergey called this individual the "Method". His sum knowledge about the Method was zero: what he knew was canceled out by what he only thought he knew. The Method saw the single detail that mattered most, the heart of any problem.
  How had the old problems been resolved, the Palestinian crisis, welfare entitlements, AIDS, racism? They weren't; they simply became irrelevant, replaced by bigger ones. This would happen again, if he succeeded today.
  Zondyne would soon turn into a legend, the truth lost forever when that molecular processor had imploded. Parkland couldn't control this case much longer. Around 4 AM, an informer saw him leave the Mir Tower in a rented car, followed by a police van. They had tried to swap places on the main road, fooling no one. Crystal-clear video recorded his arrival at the Neumann Zone thirty minutes later, where his car had parked and refueled itself. Parkland had walked down this very hallway, before abruptly changing direction.
  Then things got confusing: the cameras saw him approach the same corner from opposite ends, where he met himself and vanished. Nothing had moved during the next hour.
  That had to be the work of a software wizard; possibly their best hacker, Roger Xyrghyz, whom Sergey considered unrecruitable. They had come here for the same reason: to find out what happened next.
  For mankind, this was the strangest time. Halfway between the nineteenth and the twenty-third centuries, history had paused while evolution continued undaunted. At first glance, the world seemed much safer. Sociopaths could be reliably identified and made harmless. Only the smartest criminals stayed undetected. With fewer competitors and no enemies, the Method now had more opportunities than ever. Sergey had to beware.
  The long ride to the N-Zone had been a welcome pause, enough time to pretend he had a plan. Lana had slept upright on the back seat, still more composed than he ever looked. Sergey had his first insight amid the glow of the moving streetlamps.
  Rick had lied to his boss, allowed his attacker to escape the Tower, and helped Simansky cover up the truth. Perhaps he could be blackmailed; or he might go along to get information. Inspectors were always trying to make new connections.
  Sergey heard a chime, and a janitor robot slid past with blinking lights, singing in Chinese. He lifted his scanner like a dowsing rod, and entered the only empty office on the floor. Lana took a position in the hallway to distract visitors. She carried a concealed syringe gun. Behind him the door folded shut.
  The room looked dusty, and smelled like it had been empty for a long time. No furniture, and no waste gas from bio-chips. For a moment he remembered his youth spent in apartment buildings crumbling at the edges.
  Sergey unfolded the delicate antenna and swept the room. An associate on another floor had illegally hired him to do a "security check". If the government caught him, his life would change beyond recognition. The worst part of social reconditioning was that it was boring, not nearly as benign as it sounded.
  He hoped Rick had planted a bug; inspectors even dropped them in food. He would use it to get Rick's attention.
  A beep made him spin around. Whatever he had seen was too quick for his conscious mind. A meteor crater?
  Glancing at his screen, he felt a first stab of relief. There were tiny magnetic domains in the walls and floor, a snowstorm of static. This room had recently contained a CPU-copier, a massive device that could detect individual molecules. It stored a charge big enough to potentially kill its operator. Roger had tried to scan Rick's protected data, perhaps making it look like a lightning strike. Rick probably knew his cassettes had been tampered with.
  The Net effect could seem like magic: he realized Roger was also hunting the Method. He probably thought he could control the case. Sergey hoped he did. The world was closing in on itself, turning hollow. There were now more cameras than mammals, a million tiny airports, and a web of roads, lanes, and service trails that would reach Saturn if laid end-to-end.
  Sergey turned around and walked out, past the serene janitor bot. He basked in his triumph, until Lana shoved him back to the elevator.

  Decentralized Solutions offered a unique investment opportunity for its most trusted clients. The prospectus had a question mark on the cover, and contained a grandiose article about free will. If the goal of life was maximum pleasure, why didn't everyone use pleasure electrodes? The idea was repulsive to anyone who didn't have them. Instead, behavior was determined by strangely unaccountable obsessions and personal habits. When these failed, everything could suddenly change. Examples included the end of communism, and its sudden rebirth. It would be nice to have advance notice the next time this happened.
  The prospectus was so vague the firm could claim it meant nothing. Only a few insiders realized the "Method" was now for sale.
  A group of survivalists from the states of Washington and British Columbia quietly deposited a small fortune in escrow, while other groups were still asking questions. They believed society was doomed, and they needed the Method's help. The details were worked out in seconds, informal but binding.