Distraction - Bruce Sterling [147]
“Wait a minute!” Oscar said, wounded. “I’m from Washington. I’ve been useful.”
“Well, you’re the one exception.” She rubbed her skinned wrists angrily. “After what happened to me today, I know what I’m up against. I don’t have any more illusions. We can’t trust anyone but ourselves. Kevin and I are going to seize the airlocks and seal this entire facility. Oscar, I want you to resign. You’d better resign before the people in Washington fire you.” She began jabbing her spidery fingers at him. “No, before they arrest you. Or indict you. Or impeach you. Or kidnap you. Or just plain kill you.”
He gazed at her in alarm. She was losing it. The skin of her cheeks and forehead had the taut look of a freshly peeled onion. “Greta, let’s go for a little walk in the fresh air, shall we? You’re overwrought. We need to discuss our situation sensibly.”
“No more talking. I’m through being played for a sucker. I won’t be gassed and handcuffed again, unless they come in here with tanks.”
“Darling, nobody uses ‘tanks.’ Tanks are very twentieth century. The authorities don’t have to use violent armed force. The world is past that phase as a civilization. If they want to pry us out of here, they’ll just …”
Oscar fell silent suddenly. He hadn’t really considered the options from the point of view of the authorities. The options for the authorities didn’t seem very promising. Greta Penninger—and her allies—had just seized an armored biological laboratory. The place was blast-resistant and riddled with underground catacombs. There were hundreds of highly photogenic rare species inside, forming a combination mobile food source and corps of potential hostages. The facility had its own water supply, its own power supply, even its own atmosphere. Financial threats and embargoes were meaningless, because the financial systems had already been ruined by netwar viruses.
The place was sewn up tight. Greta’s pocket revolutionaries had seized the means of information. They had commandeered the means of production. They had a loyal and aroused populace in a state of profound distrust for the outside world. They had conquered a mighty fortress.
Greta returned her attention to Kevin. “When can we junk these lousy prole phones and get our regular system back?”
Kevin was all helpfulness. “Well, I’ll have to make sure it’s fully secure first.… How many programmers can you give me?”
“I’ll run a personnel search for telecom talent. Can you find me my own office here in the police station? I may be spending a lot of time in here.”
Kevin grinned gamely. “Hey, you’re the boss, Dr. Penninger!”
“I need some time off,” Oscar realized. “Maybe a nice long nap. It’s really been a trying day.” They cordially ignored him. They were busy with their own agenda. He left the police station.
As he tottered through the darkened gardens toward the looming bulk of the Hot Zone, weariness overcame him with an evil metabolic rush. His day’s experiences suddenly struck him as being totally insane. He’d been abducted, gassed, bombed; he’d traveled hundreds of miles in cheerless, battered vehicles; he’d concluded an unsavory alliance with a powerful gang of social outcasts; he’d been libeled, accused of embezzlement and criminal flight across state boundaries.… He’d arrested a group of police; he’d talked an armed fugitive into surrendering.… And now his sometime lover and his dangerously unbalanced security director were uniting to plot behind his back.
It was bad. Impossibly bad. But it still wasn’t the worst. Because tomorrow was yet another day. Tomorrow, he would have to launch into a massive public-relations offensive that would somehow justify his actions.
He realized suddenly that he wasn’t going to make it. It was overwhelming. It was just too much. He’d reached a condition of psychic overload. He was black, blue, and green with wounds and bruises; he was hungry, tired, overstressed, and traumatized; his nervous system was singing with stale adrenaline. Yet in his