From: atmpas@vax.oxford.ac.uk Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo Subject: The Inverse Square Law : One to Seven Lines: 741 The Inverse Square Law ====================== What follows is a couple of bits of glossary, originally in part four, followed by the whole thing. The Mujina Foundation Empathic Dual Enhancer, Mark 24.3 and 24.3a 2.01 Basic Layout and Orientation Two enclosed couches are provided, in the head-to-head configuration, and the connecting cultured nerve tissue is of the highest quality, designed to minimise unwanted feedback while giving the operator maximum finesse, receptivity and subject response. The nutrient tank accepts Mujina solution 7, and - due to improvements in efficiency - is good for one week maintenance or fourty-eight hours active use. The temperature equalisation tolerance has been increased to a range of thirty Kelvin, and as a result, tissue restructuring is not expected to occur during normal use. The life of the device is therefore increased to the geriatric limit of the living component, namely fifteen to twenty years if regular maintenance is carried out. More powerful by far than a backstreet 'mind moulder', the Mark 24.3 EDE will be a joy for the operating empath to use. Compare the two millisecond response time or the 0.973 coupling coefficient to your previous model, and we are sure you and your psychic employees will agree that the Mark 24.3 represents a quantum leap in empathic technology. From the moment the machine is activated, the operator is completely free to probe the most deeply hidden emotions of the subject, and to bring about appropriate, and permanent, changes by issuing gentle rewards and punishments. The Model 24.3a includes aural and visual stimulus control to allow problems of a more intellectual nature to be handled more precisely. WARNING: THIS DEVICE IS SOLD SOLELY FOR EDUCATIONAL AND PSYCHIATRIC USE. USE FOR ANY OTHER PURPOSE, INCLUDING INTERROGATION AND INDOCTRINATION IS EXPLICITLY FORBIDDEN IN THE TERRITORY OF ALL COUNTRIES AND ORGANISATIONS WHICH ARE SIGNATORIES TO THE TREATY OF MUNICH, 2089. ************************ Dictionary of Slang and Jargon, 2096 update. Empath, n. 1) The most common kind of psychic, one who experiences the emotions of others. With training and effort, empaths can influence the emotions of others in many ways, and control their own emotions. 2) (vulg.) A serial killer, anyone who is violently insane, disruptive or undesirable person. From assumed tendancies of (1) above. Blocker, n. 1) A psychic who subconsciously uses their talent to suppress their innate response to the emotions of others, and must therefore mimic this intellectually. Blockers also limit and reduce their own emotions. 2) A variety of drug, used by empaths (q.v.) to supress their abilities at need, such as in large crowds or while sleeping in the vicinity of other humans. D.I., n. Corporate jargon, 'Destructive Interrogation', one carried out without regard to the final condition of the subject. Theoretically illegal. Chi, n. (vulg) 1) A psychic (who must, by law, carry brands in the shape of the Greek letter Chi on forehead and hands. More specifically, an empath. (q.v., both meanings) 2) A person with no legal rights, anyone not legally human. ************************ The Inverse Square Law ====================== Paradise is in the south-west Pacific, anchored on the Lord Howe rise, off the east coast of Australia. ************************ The bubble was filled with the scent of rosemary. The air conditioning raised just enough breeze, and taped crickets chirped in the background. Mark could almost imagine that he was a boy again, lying in the herb garden in Madrid. Only the stars, and the gentle rocking of the bubble stood against the feeling. They were instantly forgettable. He settled back into the cocoon of solitude and fell asleep. In the morning, the tropical sun blazed through the roof of the bubble, and they fed him a carefully chosen breakfast through the dumb waiter. He tried to forget all the reasons for it. When he'd finished the rest, he took the plate of fresh pineapple over to the wall of the bubble and settled back into the padding to enjoy it, letting the juice dribble over his chin and on to his chest. He bit into the second piece and shuddered, just managing to spit it out. The bubble swam and the sun knifed down at him, stabbing in viciously. He curled into a ball with a sharp scream, feeling the floor grab at him, breathing fast. The pineapple juice on his chest trickled horribly downward. After a few minutes it stopped. He got up and punched the intercom button. The response was a sweetly feminine computerised voice. 'Hello Mark, I'm Paradise Eliza. I'm afraid the coordinator is busy at the moment, but if you'd like to talk to me, then I'm sure I can help you deal with your problem.' 'No you can't, you've got less sensitivity than a blocker on rainbow and you haven't the faintest idea about anything that happens outside your bloody constructive entertainment programs.' 'You're angry. I can understand that...' 'No you can't, you're a machine you bloody idiot, get me the coordinator!' '...and I don't mind you insulting me if you feel that will help, but I'd rather hear what you're really angry about. I'm sure the coordinator is...' The voice paused with a click, and then the coordinator started. He was human, but his voice sounded studied and artificial, even to Mark. '... with you now. I'm sorry about that, umm, Mark, but I was talking to someone else.' Mark paused to try to work out what the coordinator's tone meant, then gave up. He was starting to calm down. 'Tell me what happened or you'll be talking to Personnel Monitoring by the afternoon. I can't take this kind of lunacy with all these ABs in my system. And you can turn the Happymakers off, too. Don't think I can't feel them.' 'Mark, we had a minor emergency in the next bubble, that's all. It's under control. I can't tell you any more, and the Tranquillity Units are just normal procedure under the circumstances. I expect we'll be able to deactivate them soon.' Mark tried hard, but it was impossible to stay angry with the Happymakers gurgling away behind the soft walls of the bubble. When he started to feel uncomfortable an hour later, he realised they'd been turned off. After that, he tried different piped sounds and smells for a few hours, but couldn't settle again, even with the herb garden set up. For once, he was relieved when Dr. Taylor called for him. ************************ She sent the files in through the dumb waiter and briefed him over the intercom while they waited for the ABs to wear off. It felt good to get the fog out of his head. 'It's a simple enough job, Mark. There's a computer operator in the Warsaw branch who's getting close to one of the contract scientists, a biochemical engineer by the name of Dupont. Fair enough, but one of our people remembered seeing her around in the J-Corp branch, and it doesn't track in our records.' 'So what does Warsaw want us for, doctor? If they want to interrogate her, they've got their own people.' 'Warsaw doesn't as far as I can tell. This is straight from New Dehli, and they haven't told me why. I would guess that they either have some rumours about Dupont, or they think there's something funny in Warsaw. Either way, they want someone they feel they can trust.' 'I'll have to deal with that feeling next time I'm around New Dehli. I've still got Bangkok kicking around in my head, and then there was the coordinator and his blasted "minor emergency". Did they tell you about that?' 'I caught something about it over lunch. A construct, I think. Are you all right?' 'I'll live. They were only in the next bubble. This woman - does Dehli want a full DI done?' 'Yes. I'm sorry Mark.' 'You're sorry, Doctor Taylor? What's she going to be?' End first section. ************************ It takes eight hours for ABs to wear off. They brought him out to the plane after six, when the fog was clearing enough to let him near other people. He felt stronger for the rest, but there was still a raw edge left somewhere inside. It was a small plane, blazing in the green and orange company livery under the sunshine. The woman they sent in the buggy to take him over seemed scarcely human in the heat haze, and her bright, blank eyes didn't make it any better. He told her he preferred to walk, and she made off, running the buggy hard over the asphalt. Five minutes walk in the runway oven helped him prepare himself for the plane. He watched the pilot staring fixedly at him through the window, not even making a polite pretence of checking instruments. Dr. Taylor was in the back sleeping off jet lag, and he was glad to sit up front near the cockpit, looking down over the beehive grid of bubbles on their watery bed. As they left Paradise behind, he found himself relaxing, then, after a few minutes, tensing up again. The co-pilot came out and approached him warily, so he turned round to face the man, folding his arms. 'Would you like a drink or something to eat... sir?' Mark felt glad that the man was keeping his distance. He tried to smile through the nerves. 'Some water, please. Alcohol doesn't do me any good.' The co-pilot went to get the water and Mark relaxed again, turning back to the window. The reflected face was lined and thin, with rapidly greying hair cut very short. It wasn't much of a face. Ten years older than it should have been, and it had never been able to compete with the white plastic chi stamped on its forehead. The sunlight outside was almost blinding. ************************ He awoke blank and unconnected. Dr. Taylor was eating breakfast at a table opposite, and he watched her dispassionately for a while. The blockers in the sleeping pills lingered for a time, and it was interesting to watch his idea of her shift as they wore off. At first, she was just a random collection of moving parts, like an avalanche or trees in a storm, all moving independently and without purpose. Gradually, she became an increasingly complex machine, and he found himself, still half asleep, congratulating the engineer. A minute or two later, he was watching an animal, fastidious as a cat, wipe its lips and clear the plate away. It was almost impossible to accept the book that she picked up, because even though she was still Dr. Taylor, and he knew it, his mind refused to accept her humanity while the wall of blockers still stood between them. The stage after animal was the worst. She became a beast-woman, a caricature of humanity, soulless and implacable. Confused emotional static rolled over him, fear and lust, rage and pity. One moment she seemed an animal aping humanity, an agent somehow slipped into society. The next she was a degraded woman, her mind destroyed in some vile experiment. At last she was just a person, sitting on the other side of the cabin, and he could let himself relax. He studied her for a while, enjoying the separation, until the last of the blockers wore off. The familiar unity washed over him, shattering the barriers, and he felt her well fed contentment beside his own hunger, and her own nervousness beside his. 'Good morning Dr. Taylor. You could have got a less bigoted crew, but at least they serve a good breakfast.' ************************ Warsaw was an odd city. All reason for its existence had gone, since neither Poland nor the Vistula - apart from a stream that ran for about six months of the year - existed any more. And yet it was still there and still a city, for all that there were no people to speak of in the countryside around it. It survived by providing cheap labour for the megacorps, and where the megacorps were, Third Eye would be as well, eyeing up the scraps from the table. Adam Weissman was at the airport to meet them, immaculate in his white suit and Panama hat. Weissman - any blocker, really - always unnerved Mark. It was like watching Dr. Taylor as a piece of precision robotics that morning, except that Weissman would never change. No more than the faintest flicker would ever get out from behind the black brand on his forehead. Weissman greeted Dr. Taylor with a perfect smile. 'Good morning doctor. I hope that you had a pleasant journey.' 'It was okay, thanks Adam.' Adam drove them back to the company building through a vague Warsaw haze of hunger and discomfort. Mark watched them from the back seat. Weissman was practising his charm on Dr. Taylor, and she - for all her psychological training - was charmed, a kind of warm, happy feeling in the stomach. Mark shut it out as best he could. ************************ Once he'd seen Adam off to the airport to get Mark and the doctor, Malone got everything ready to get the girl. It should have been done before, but he felt better without Adam looking on. He'd seen too many blockers freak to feel safe around them. Malone always wrote down everything he needed and checked it all three times, in order. He never felt quite right until he'd done that. First, the fritzers. Left pocket Mark, right pocket Adam. Kevlar vest, personnel monitoring ID, and stimulant patches. Scanner and pistol - and the shoulder holster. Tranq, AP and HE for the pistol. A simple job really - basic equipment plus the scanner. On balance, he decided to include the mini-manual for the scanner, since he'd only got the thing that week. He called in the interpreter and left. It was hot on the way to the building. Malone whistled 'See that Laser Girl' to keep his nerves down. The gun helped too. He went straight to the head of the queue in reception. The receptionist started to protest in Polish, so he opened up his ID and glared. 'English. Oder Deutsch. Ou Francais. Fast! Vite! Schnell!' The ID did the trick. It always made Malone feel good to watch someone go to jelly like that. The interpreter tried to intervene, but Malone stopped her with another glare. He signed himself in with a flourish. J. Malone, Personnel Monitoring, to see Maria Jaruzelska in the computer pool. He considered the 'purpose of business' slot for a few moments and decided to leave it a nice, ominous blank. The lift spouted Arabic pop music at him on the way up to the pool. He had the interpreter tell it to play some American stuff, and it cut into the latest hit parade, which was worse. Once they'd reached the floor, he checked the scanner. The interpreter jumped out of her skin when he ran her up and down with it. It found the homer in his shoe, the tie wire and the fritzers, so he reckoned it was working. Just before they went in, he decided to put on his mirror shades, for that extra something. The computer pool was a low level place. The people were just ordinary programmers putting together code blocks, usually without knowing what they were for. The room was a subdued orange, well lit with neon, and clean. Malone always liked to think of computer poolers as intelligent but not bright - just little people doing little jobs for a little more than most of their friends made. A young man looked up at them and Malone looked back for a while, examining the red honeycomb craze across the bare scalp. The programmer shivered and went back to the limited matrix Third Eye set up for its poolers. 'Call Maria out here. Tell her to collect her things and come into the corridor.' The interpreter jabbered for a while, and a girl got up. She was quite pretty - prettier than a Warsaw pooler can afford, Malone thought - and she didn't look scared. She must be good. He went over to 'help' her get her things out of the locker, just in case she had a gun, though he knew she was too bright for that. She had thin, fair hair that came down in two neat plaits on either side of her face, and perfect pale skin without a hint of tan or freckles. Expensive skin. Only her eyes showed the red, watery rims of Northern poverty. She didn't have much in the locker: gloves, ventilated allcover and wide brimmed hat. Out in the corridor, he went over her with the scanner. She asked the interpreter what it was and who he was. The red rimmed eyes seemed scared for the first time. She was clean as a whistle, which made Malone sure. Everyone had something on them. End part three here. ************************ When they got back to the building, Malone was still out. Dr. Taylor let them in to the floor Third Eye had allocated to them. Mark stepped inside and looked around. The layout was bitterly familiar. Four chairs, one bolted to the ground, and a table. A rack of high powered lights and one of medical instruments. A portable colour cell, still half in pink and yellow pieces. And the mind moulder, lying in the shadow of its nutrient tank like a double sarcophagus. He felt sick for a moment, and then he sent himself spinning back into the herb garden, filled with a child's delight in the colourful world - his own delight from two decades ago. He stepped round the mind moulder to stare out of the window over the patchwork of old town and skyscrapers. He noticed that it was double-glazed - soundproof - with the joy of a small boy finding a grasshopper chirping in a bed of sweet thyme. Dr. Taylor came up behind him as Adam set to work finishing the colour cell. Mark watched their reflections in the glass like coloured stones in the rockery. Then the doctor's anxiety intruded on his mind, making a glaring contrast with the playfulness. He turned, half smiling. 'Are you all right, Mark? You seemed upset for a moment.' 'I'm fine, Dr. Taylor. Just screening off a few bad memories.' The doctor's nerves were still there, jangling. He took a deep breath and embraced them, absorbing them until his own teeth almost started to chatter, and then belly flopped back into the pungent aromas of the herb garden. She smiled and turned away, walking back over towards Adam. 'Just as long as you feel okay. Oh, I almost forgot. You'd better read through the manual for the moulder. They brought out a new model while you were in Paradise. Have fun.' She went over to read her book, some kind of bright pulpy looking thing. Mark sat down on the edge of the moulder and picked up the manual. He was a few minutes into the 'debriefing procedures' section when she got up suddenly and threw down the book. 'Mark! Don't do that again, you manipulative bastard! I don't appreciate being 'cheered up' whenever you happen to think I need it!' Mark looked up and tried to smile disarmingly. The wave of anger was strong enough to make a brief appearance in the lazy heat of the herb garden, and his voice was slightly strained as he apologised. 'I'm sorry, Doctor. Your nerves were upsetting me.' 'Look, Mark. Just tell me to sit on the other side of the room next time. Okay?' 'Yes, Doctor. I'll try to remember.' In the moments that followed, both of them looked over at Adam, who was busily finishing the cell. Although they each tried to decide what he thought of the incident, the blocker's face was as inscrutable as his shielded soul. ************************ While he walked the girl back through the building, Malone decided on the course of the interrogation. The first thing would be to leave her in the colour cell - probably pink - for a few hours to soften her up, followed by a few hours of verbal interrogation from Adam. Or perhaps James, he thought, grimacing, though I'll have to watch him. The good doctor is always a bit slow to provide her drugs, but given an hour or two I can probably get something out of her. He looked after the girl admiringly. He knew that she wouldn't crack - she was much too good for that, especially without full access to the drugs. She was probably condition-trained and getting into her role already. So they would have to put her in the moulder. Give that blasted empath something to do. Her shoes were shiny and black, with high heels. Malone guessed at Paris style, but a year or two old. They fitted the pattern, but it was odd that she should be wearing out of date fashion shoes. ************************ Mark had almost finished reading the 'debriefing instructions' when Malone came back with Maria. While they were still coming down the corridor, a strange mixture of Malone's lazy cynicism and hard edged fear sloshed and sliced into the outside of his mind. Mark, of course, was still cushioned in the safety of sage and Little Dorrit. He wouldn't be able to keep up the doublethink forever, but he hoped that it would last until the DI was over. He wasn't really prepared for the strange bundle Malone ushered in to the room. Maria Jaruzelska was a mess of contradictions. Cheap clothes were married with expensive shoes, and blaze of hard white fear combined with a face and posture that - even to an empath - seemed the very model of precise composure. Her eyes scanned the room taking in first Adam's, and then his own brands with twin spikes of terror. Mark found his legs carrying him jerkily to the far corner of the room where he cowered, shivering, against the wall. '_That_ scared, Maria? You've given our empath quite a fit. I'm sure he'll want a payback later. Adam, I'm glad you've set up the colour cell so nicely for Maria. Open it up please.' Malone flashed Mark a mocking smile as Adam methodically popped the bolts on the cell. Adam stared fixedly at Maria and fired out a few words in speed learn Polish. She insulted him, and he repeated the order with a menacing step forward. Relenting, she took off her shoes and glasses and allowed herself to be locked in. 'Set the cell to pink, Adam. We'll stew her in there for a while. Mark - tell me how things are.' Mark struggled to reassert his control. He didn't want to give Malone any more ego boosts. A sledgehammer of a block, crude and destructive but effective, settled things down. 'She is terrified, Mr. Malone. I can't get anything more from her at the moment. I don't think she was expecting an empath or a blocker. If she's going to be in there for a while, I think I'll need some rainbow. She's a strong transmitter.' Dr. Taylor got up and went to the rack of drugs, but Malone stopped her. 'Sit down, Doctor. Maria is a tough nut and I want everything Mark can give if we're going to crack her. There's at least one layer of conditioning in there - that'll be why she's blasting out the fear so much. If you give him the rainbow, he won't be able to give us the best time to take her out of there.' 'Can it, Malone. Mark's still recovering from Thailand, and he's my responsibility. I'm giving him the rainbow.' 'You can it, Doctor. This is run time, and I'm in charge of everything for the moment.' Adam stepped forward to quell the argument. 'Please Doctor, Mr. Malone. The cabinet won't take less than an hour to work, so why don't I take Mark for a walk. That way, he can be insulated from the subject but still able to work at full efficiency later. In fact, assuming your assessment is correct, Mr. Malone, we can easily take two hours.' Malone looked round at Adam. Mark couldn't resist letting the block drop enough to feel Malone's thwarted rage, and noticed that Maria wasn't as scared as she had been. 'Okay Adam, you do that.' End Part Five ************************ Outside the sun shone high over Warsaw, driving the people in from the streets. The heat was enough to soften the asphalt on the road, and even under the pavement overhang, Mark's allcover got hot and sticky within minutes. Adam was as cool as ever, relying on goggles, sunblock and his own half-indian skin to protect him from the sun. The white suit made him shine like an angel. They were walking on the back streets, to keep Mark as far away from people as possible. The buildings all around were still full, of course. Hungry people eating, tired people sleeping, nervous people turning and turning on the beds. All the people were hot, and most of them were unhappy. The only person they saw in the crowded streets was an old man, walking his dog with difficulty from under an off-white allcover. The dog kept licking the white dab of sunblock from its nose, and every time the owner would stop and berate it in polish, adjusting its goggles and readministering the cream. Adam listened for a moment before slipping himself into a humorous mood. 'He should be glad. It's panting so much, it would burn its tongue if it didn't keep licking the stuff from its nose.' 'He ought to buy the poor thing a proper mask if he's going to walk it at this time of day.' They were silent for a few more minutes while the spectacle stopped and started its way down the street and round the blackened stone corner. 'Would you like to try a bar, Mark? It would be a bit cooler than the streets.' 'They'd just throw us out again. It isn't worth it.' The I'm-going-to-have-some-fun grin came back to Mark with a blaze of well-rehearsed schadenfreude. Adam was playing to the gallery for him. 'If they try it, I'll just have to remind them who they're dealing with.' ************************ The bar was a small, run down joint. With the doors closed against the heat and the shutters down, it seemed shut, except for the fans that whined and groaned inside. Adam thrust the door open and half-skipped inside. Mark followed more cautiously. The room was almost empty. The barkeep and an old man were playing chess on the bar, with a few coins and saltshakers on the board instead of pieces. On the far side of the room, by a small table under the fans, a couple in their thirties had turned instantly to the door. A wave of surprise rolled across the room and subsided into animosity and prickling fear. Mark felt the familiar chill run through him and made for a chair by the door, away from the people. Adam put a spring in the steps that took him over to the chess game and slapped his arm down on the bar. The barkeep slowly spat on a filthy rag and polished a glass. 'Closed,' he said, in a black treacle voice. Adam didn't reply. He paused for a moment, smiled, and pulled away from the bar. His elbow caught a couple of empty coffee cups and sent them spiralling down towards the floor. Brown drops span in the air. The rest of the room stopped silently as the cups plunged and a flurry of white movement turned by the bar. A teaspoon crashed against the foot rest under the bar. Adam was standing, holding a cup and saucer in each hand, and smiling at the barman. A dark stain was just starting to spread across the bluish whiteness of his suit. 'Oops. Clumsy of me. I'll have to be careful or I'll break something. We'll have ... two coffees, thank you.' The bar was alive with the barman's fury. Mark felt it from the shelter of a Spanish evening, and expected the move before it came. The man's right hand made a dive for something under the bar. In a flood of fear and surprise, he found himself holding a cup. Adam's right hand slipped fluidly out of his jacket and pressed a few coins on to the bar with a loud crack. 'Be careful! You almost broke it!' ************************ Apart from the fans, the bar was silent as they drank. The other customers had left, leaving the barman to ostentatiously polish the bar and eye them nervously. Adam watched him in return, giving him a cheery wave from time to time. 'Did you have to do that, Adam? We could have just found another place.' 'Of course I did. The guy's an out and out bigoted bastard, and the same thing might have happened in the next place, and the next. Until, speaking of bigoted bastards, we had to go back to Malone and company.' 'You haven't exactly made us flavour of the month, you know. You won't change the poor guy by scaring the living daylights out of him.' 'Your problem is you care too much about the ungifted idiots. They don't care about us, so why should we care about them?' Adam grinned and changed his mood. 'Besides, I did him a favour. He was losing.' ************************ Mark started crying as the lift halted at their floor. He didn't notice at first, because he was absorbed by the tension running between the two executives who had smiled and chatted their way up from the ground floor. Half of their banter was to disguise their hatred for each other, and the rest was to hide the bottomless pit of contempt for their fellow passengers. Half of him wanted to mention it. It would be good to say, 'I know you loathe me. Why do you think you can hide it?' Then the mood suddenly changed to a cocktail of pity and embarrassment. Even then, as he tried to work out what had happened, he didn't realise until he felt the air conditioning blow cold on his face. As he groped for a handkerchief, he knew the reason. Maria was still projecting, wave after sobbing wave of sorrow streaming out from the colour cell. She was, as Malone would say, ready. He allowed himself to be ushered back into the room. The block had to go back up, and the soft protest from somewhere inside made him gag. His head filled with the image of a light bulb, trembling under unimaginable pressure from inside. 'Hello children! Did we have a nice walk then?' Mark swallowed hard and preempted Adam's slick reply. 'Yes, thank you Mr. Malone. It's time to bring ... the subject out of the colour cell now.' 'Good. Adam, I think we'll have James talk to her for a while. You'll be our lie detector Mark.' Mark settled himself resignedly on a chair. Adam stripped off his jacket and threw it, with the hat, across the room to lie in a crumpled heap on the floor. The tie followed, leaving a very different Weissman, his appearance dominated by a scowl and the black holster of his gun. 'Gotcha boss. I'll get the dirt from the bitch for you. Bring her out.' Malone brought her out. After two hours in the colour cell, it must have been a relief. Her makeup had run with her tears, and the mascara that had set off the paleness of her skin instead formed an oil slick rainbow down her cheeks. Her neat plaits were in tatters - she must have been chewing them. The red rimmed eyes were even redder now. The strain had been too much for them, and Maria's tears must have been blood for the past half hour or so. ************************ The interrogation lasted hours. Mark did his best not to watch as they took her apart. All he had to do was speak up when Maria lied - which didn't seem to be often. It was delicate work. He had to set up a kind of model Maria in his head, one that felt everything the real one did. He sat behind his block and watched it, testing its reflexes and measuring its pulse for the tell-tale signs. Did it want to cover its face? Did it make him remember sneaking out in the night to go down into Madrid, even though it made his mother cry? While he watched, the model screwed its bleeding eyes against the blinding lights. He watched the flocks of starlings and seagulls coming down from the derelict tower blocks into the lengthening shadows. It struggled for its innocence in the face of James's chipped Polish as the sun swung low over Warsaw. Malone ordered stimulants to keep her from fainting, and the model's arm - Mark's arm - stung from Dr. Taylor's needle. The sun turned crimson and set in the boiling West. Finally they finished. Mark pushed the bubbling ball of grief out of his head. Inside his head, he heard the crash of shattered dreams. 'Well?', said Malone. 'Mark, _Adam_? What do you think?' Mark wiped his eyes before he turned round. That let Adam speak first. 'Her story is quite simple, Mr. Malone. She was a freelance beautician for a while, and she used the products on herself. She went bust from spending too much on herself and from the Polish recession four years ago. She had a relationship with a J-Corp pooler for a while, but that ended two years ago. That was how she came to apply to our pool.' 'Too simple. Mark?' 'She seems genuine to me, Mr. Malone. There's very little trace of artifice, and she's such a strong transmitter that it would have to be the best conditioning I've ever seen.' 'Very little artifice, and it would have to be extra special conditioning.' Malone spoke softly, knowing that he didn't need to express his disbelief. Mark swallowed hard. 'Yes, sir.' 'But not no artifice, and we all know J-Corp is good at conditioning. They can do everything we can.' 'No sir, but noone uses no artifice. Everyone keeps something...' 'Mark, get the moulder up to speed.' 'Mr. Malone, please. Dehli made a mistake. It happens sometimes...' 'Now, Mark. And doctor, before you say it, yes I am over-ruling my psychics. We have full DI clearance and I intend to use it. Dehli wants to know for sure whether J-Corp intends to extract Dupont, and I'll do everything in my power to get that information.' 'Malone, I protest. You can't just dismiss Mark and Adam's opinions like this. At least take some time to consult.' 'I can and I will doctor. I refuse to give the subject time to reconstruct its defences. Mark's judgement in this matter is not impartial, and yours is in doubt. Adam conducted the interrogation as James and is not reliable. Was that a formal protest I heard?' Mark went resignedly over to the moulder. He already knew both that Dr. Taylor would protest formally and that Malone would promise to put it in his report before ordering her to help with the moulder. He barely heard the exchange. The herb garden was dark, and the warm breeze brought him the scents of rosemary and lavender. Above the chirping of the crickets, he could hear someone screaming far away. ************************ From organpipe.uug.arizona.edu!amethyst!noao!asuvax!cs.utexas.edu!qt.cs.utexas.edu!yale.edu!jvnc.net!darwin.sura.net!wupost!uunet!mcsun!uknet!comlab.ox.ac.uk!oxuniv!atmpas Sun Aug 30 09:43:12 MST 1992 Article: 861 of alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo Path: organpipe.uug.arizona.edu!amethyst!noao!asuvax!cs.utexas.edu!qt.cs.utexas.edu!yale.edu!jvnc.net!darwin.sura.net!wupost!uunet!mcsun!uknet!comlab.ox.ac.uk!oxuniv!atmpas From: atmpas@vax.oxford.ac.uk Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo Subject: The Inverse Square Law : Eight, I think Message-ID: <1992Aug28.180110.8558@vax.oxford.ac.uk> Date: 28 Aug 92 17:01:10 GMT Organization: Oxford University VAX 6620 Lines: 154 The Inverse Square Law : Eight ============================== He wormed his head up into the helmet section of the moulder and flipped the switch that sent the air tube down into his mouth. The sea of tissue surrounding his head was still quiet, damping down everything outside in favour of a calm happiness. Maria's pitching agony of grief and terror was dulled down to a faint trembling of the hands. The scream that disturbed the night beyond the camomile and the sage remained. The clang of the catches on the other side of the moulder forced him to ignore it. The screen light up. He gripped the mouse with his left hand and started selecting the options. Response speed and coupling to maximum. Back coupling at half. Set for verbal English with text check to verbal Polish. Start connection. Maria's pain stabbed into his eyes. He blocked it out, and felt a queasy ache starting in the back of his head. The screaming rose a notch and then fell back again. He decided to get started. Settling himself back into the pain, Mark chose his first image. 'Maria Jaruzelska.' He clicked to translate and send. For a moment, he felt better. He felt strong, but terribly fragile. And proud. He knew what he had to do. To break a conditioning defence, you have to shatter the ego. Shatter it carefully and precisely, like cutting a diamond. He sent himself, or part of himself, spiralling down into his memories back to a nine year old boy who had just learned to cycle. The boy was proud of himself with the wind rushing in his face, and held high above the ground, beyond the reach of fear. 'Maria Jaruzelska.' He sent the memory out into flicker of confidence, catching and lifting it. Then the memory flew on and the front tyre slipped. The world span around a sickening moment and hurled itself down to a rough edge of concrete. He felt water on his face, and wondered who was crying, and for whom. ************************ There was one last question to be asked. It was a simple one. The last question always is simple. The howling in his head was scarcely bearable. 'Did Maria tell ... James the truth?' There was fear, and a trembling, and a relaxation. And then nothing more. The howling was a gale in the herb garden, a storm of whipping stems and shredded leaves. Mark clicked for 'out'. ************************ 'Well Mark? What's the paydirt?' Malone seemed to be spitting the words out. The howling in his head subsided into a steady, gentle babble. Let me out. Stop this. Let me out. I want to die. Why do they do this? On the outside, Mark just smiled. The babbling was so easy to block. 'You were right, Mr. Malone. She was lying to us. She was never a beautician.' Let me out? Why do you do this? Talk to me. Let me do it. Please. Pretty please. With bells on? 'I knew it! Did you find out who her controller was?' Mark just smiled and walked over towards Malone. The man was so transparent, with his elation evaporating into nerves. Mark remembered Maria and sent waves of helplessness over to Malone. Let me do it. Let me out. I want to get out. It hurts in here. Hey, isn't this fun? I guess we've gone mad. If we've gone mad, will you let me out? Hey, great! This will be fun! 'You don't understand, Mr. Malone. She was too proud not to call herself a beautician, but she was just a hairdresser.' Malone backed away and let his hand slide down towards his pockets. He seemed to be muttering something under his breath. He was scared, and confused. 'Left? Right? Which pocket Mark?' Mark could feel Dr. Taylor creeping up behind him. He kept walking towards Malone. 'She went cabbage on me. What do you think of that? Are we having fun yet? I wonder if you'll go cabbage? I'm ready. I don't think you're quick enough to beat me.' He knew the doctor couldn't reach him. He was close enough to Malone now. He felt as happy as a sandboy. Suddenly, he felt hopeful. Why was Malone feeling hopeful? 'Byebye. Nasty Malone go 'way now.' There was a flurry of white, and everything went black. ************************ Malone let himself relax. Another psychic had gone crazy, but he was still there, and he'd got the information. J. Malone always got his information. 'Elegantly done, Adam. I knew I could rely on you.' 'Thank you, Mr. Malone.' 'Doctor, I think you'd better check Mark for concussion and give him some blockers, don't you?' He went over to check on the girl. The EEG was almost flat. He sent Adam out to get a security team for the disposal. Dr. Taylor finished with Mark and turned to him. He decided to enjoy it and spoke before she did. 'A construct, I suppose, Doctor. I presume he'll recover?' 'No thanks to you if he does. I hope you're proud of yourself. A dead innocent and a freaked empath in twenty-four hours must almost be a record for you.' 'I'll do you a favour and not put that in my report, Doctor. We must think of your career. In the meantime, shouldn't you be winding down the moulder?' He smiled to himself. Dr. Taylor's career meant everything to her - it was all over her psychoprofile. Winning felt so good. 'Wind down your own moulder you bastard. I don't want any favours from you. You can be sure it'll all be in _my_ report. In the meantime, I have to be getting a plane booked. It's a long way from here to Paradise.' ************************ Well, that's your lot. Of course, some of you will probably see this before part one, but that isn't my fault. I'm none too happy with the ending, but I didn't want it to be the obvious mutual annihilation, which would be too neat for the genre. Anyone feel up to using these people? (who are only sort of mine) (in case anyone's wondering, Adam's speed is down to good old fashioned cyberware, not psychic powers) - Paul Sherliker