The Caryatids - Bruce Sterling [77]
“It’s Indian tea?”
“Yes of course! They’re restoring plantations in Assam!”
With surprising spryness and multicultural fluidity, Feininger sat cross-legged on the floor.
Radmila joined him, arranged the cups, and poured. Their ritual took a leisurely six minutes. They scarcely spoke. When they were done, the two of them had reached a certain level of rapport.
Radmila fully understood why the Acquis pundit had attacked Frank Osbourne. Osbourne was a Dispensation architect. So naturally Osbourne would push the limits of whatever the Acquis considered acceptable practice. Feininger was not truly upset about Osbourne. Feininger was angry because of Mljet.
Feininger wasn’t wearing a neural helmet or attention-camp blinders—Feininger was a professional, he wasn’t some crazy Acquis engineer of human souls—but Feininger knew that John had gone to Mljet to interfere with that effort.
The Acquis cadres in Mljet were cranks, radicals, and zealots. Of course some Dispensation agent had arrived there for containment and push-back. John had ventured to Mljet as a Dispensation activist.
John would lure the cranks aside with a tasty carrot if he could; if that effort failed, he would slide a stick straight through their spinning wheels.
Because John seemed so polite and refined, people underestimated him. His quietest attacks, always carried out in a low, scholarly voice while wearing a business suit, were brutally effective.
Feininger understood modern global realpolitik. His bluster about the architect was his counterploy. Feininger was radiating the obvious: she could sense that in the poised way he held his teacup.
Acquis interests had been threatened on a certain part of the global game board. Feininger could try to defend that dodgy Adriatic territory—those weirdos with helmets and skeletons—or he could boldly and swiftly fly over to counterattack within Los Angeles. That was what Feininger had come here to demonstrate.
All in all, his choice of a target—the Family’s favorite Los Angeles architect—that was a civilized gambit. Feininger had to know about Vera in Mljet. He could have been nastier with her.
Feininger would not get nasty, because Feininger was almost exactly like John. Dr. Feininger was an Acquis counter-John. Dr. Feininger, having learned what John could do, was planning to out-John John. Dropping by to put a scare into Mrs. John—there must be Acquis strategists chuckling over that tactic, behind a network screen someplace.
“Dr. Feininger, I’m only a pop star. While you are a moralist. A thought leader. You’re a global techno-social philosopher.”
Feininger laughed. “If it’s any help, we go through vogues just like you do.”
“I know about the Acquis. We Americans have a lot of Acquis people. In Boston, San Francisco, Seattle … Still, they can’t compare to the truly global Acquis thought leaders. The American Acquis don’t think as creatively as you do.”
“I didn’t expect to hear this from you,” Feininger allowed. “This might be significant.”
“I’m thinking: we need to try something unexpected. Fresh. Contemporary. Of the moment. Something unexpectable.”
“This should be interesting.”
“Mind you, this is just my own personal proposal. I’m in no position to dictate terms to my Family-Firm—I hope you understand that.”
“I know who Mila Montalban is,” said Feininger, smiling at her. “So do half the people in the world.”
“Well, I’m thinking: a public event. Nothing too ‘global.’ Because that word sounds so old-fashioned now. I’m thinking postglobal. Superglobal. A quiet, elite kind of political summit. Held in orbit.”
“A political summit held in orbit?”
“Yes, up in LilyPad. You wouldn’t exactly call LilyPad ‘the space frontier’ … because sweet LilyPad is not a primitive place, exactly … but it’s certainly remote. And, Dr. Feininger: We don’t want any boring, tedious people at our theory summit held in outer space. We should be inviting: the very exceptional, very high-level thinkers … visionary, nonpartisan people, the people far outside the global box … Not even one hundred people.