Schismatrix plus - Bruce Sterling [100]
The man produced a videotablet and plugged it into his briefcase. He handed Lindsay the tablet, which flickered into life. It showed a face: Pongpi-anskul's. Pongpianskul brushed at his braids, disheveling them with leathery, wrinkled hands. "Abelard, how are you?"
"Neville. You're alive?"
"I'm still a tenant of the flesh, yes. Morrissey's briefcase is programmed with an interactive expert system. It ought to carry out a decent conversation with you, in my absence."
Morrissey cleared his throat. "These machines are new to me. I think, though, that I should let the two of you speak privately."
"That might be best."
"I'll wait in the lobby."
Lindsay watched the man's retreating back. Morrissey's clothes amazed him. Lindsay had forgotten that he'd ever dressed like that, in the Republic. He studied the tablet's screen. "You look well, Neville."
"Thank you. Ross arranged my last rejuvenation. By the Cataclysts. The same group that treated you, Mavrides."
"Treated me? They put me on ice."
"On ice? That's odd. The Cataclysts woke me up. I never felt so alive as when I was here in the Republic, pretending to be dead. It's been a long ten years, Abelard. Eleven, whatever." Pongpianskul shrugged. Lindsay Looked at the tablet. The image made no response to the Look, and the charm faded. Lindsay spoke slowly. "So you've attacked the Republic?
Through the Cataclyst terror networks?"
The tablet smiled Pongpianskul's smile. "The Cataclysts had their part in it, I admit. You would have appreciated this, Mavrides. I played off the youth element. There was a political group called the Preservationists, dating—oh, forty or fifty years back. Constantine used them to seize power, but they detested the Shapers as much as they did the Mechs. What they wanted, really, was a human life, droll as that might seem. Now there's a new generation of them, raised under Shaper influence and hating it. But thanks to Shaper breeding policies, the young hold a majority." Pongpianskul laughed. "Constantine used the Republic as a storehouse for Shaper militants. He made things here a muddle of subterfuge. When the war heated up, the militants rushed back to the Ring Council and Cataclyst Super-brights hid here instead. Constantine spent too much time in the Rings, and lost touch.. . . The Cataclysts like my notion of a cultural preserve. It's all down in the new Constitution. My messenger will give you a copy."
"Thank you."
"Things haven't gone well with the rest of the Midnight Clique.. . . It's been too long since we've talked. I tracked you down through your ex-wife."
"Alexandrina?"
"What?" The programmed system was confused; the persona flickered for a second's fraction. "It took some doing. Nora's under close surveillance."
"Just a moment." Lindsay rose from his chair and poured himself a drink. A cascade of memories from the Republic had rushed through him, and he'd thought automatically of his first wife, Alexandrina Tyler. But of course she was not in the Republic. She had been a victim of Constantine's purge, shipped out to the Zaibatsu.
He returned to the screen. It said, "Ross left for the cometaries when G-T crumbled. Fetzko has faded. Vetterling's in Skimmers Union, sucking up to the fascists. Ice assassins took Margaret Juliano. She's still awaiting the thaw. I have power here, Mavrides. But that can't make up for what we lost."
"How is Nora?" Lindsay said.
The false Pongpianskul looked grave. "She fights Constantine where he's strongest. If it weren't for her my coup here would have failed; she distracted him.... I'd hoped I could lure her here, and you as well. She was always so good to us. Our premier hostess."
"She wouldn't come?"
"She has remarried."
The slotted glass broke in Lindsay's iron hand. Blobs of liqueur drifted toward the floor.
"For political reasons," the screen continued.