"What is it?" Damon asked.
"We don't have a name for the species yet-nor the genus, nor even the family. It's a colonial organism reminiscent in some ways of a slime mold. It has a motile form which wanders around by means of protoplasmic streaming, but the colonies can also set rock-hard, setting their molecular systems in sugar like sporulating bacteria or algae that have to withstand ultralow temperatures. In its dormant state it's as indestructible as any life-form can be, able to survive all kinds of extremes. Its genetic transactions are inordinately complicated and so far very mysterious-but that's not surprising, given that it's not DNA-based. Its methods of protein synthesis are quite different from ours, based in a radically different biochemical code."
Damon had given up genetics ten years before and had carefully set aside much of what his foster parents had tried so assiduously to teach him, but he understood the implications of what Kachellek was saying. "Is it new," he asked, "or just something we managed to overlook during the last couple of centuries?"
"We can't be absolutely certain," Karol admitted scrupulously. "But we're reasonably certain that it wasn't here here before. It's a recent arrival in the littoral zone, and as of today it hasn't been reported anywhere outside these islands." before. It's a recent arrival in the littoral zone, and as of today it hasn't been reported anywhere outside these islands."
Damon wondered whether as of today as of today meant that Karol had reason to expect a new report tomorrow or the day after, perhaps when the mud samples he'd loaded onto the lorry had been sieved and sorted. "So where did it come from?" he asked. meant that Karol had reason to expect a new report tomorrow or the day after, perhaps when the mud samples he'd loaded onto the lorry had been sieved and sorted. "So where did it come from?" he asked.
"We don't know yet. The obvious contenders are up, down. . . ." The blond man seemed to be on the point of adding a third alternative, but he didn't; instead he went on: "I'm looking downward; Eveline's investigating the other direction."
Damon knew that he was expected to rise to the challenge and follow the line of argument. The Kite Kite had been dredging mud from the ocean bed, and Eveline Hywood was in the L-5 space colony. "You think it might have evolved way down in the deep trenches," Damon said. "Maybe it's been there all along, ever since DNA itself evolved-or maybe not. Perhaps it started off in one of those bizarre enclaves that surround the black smokers where the tectonic plates are pulling apart and has only just begun expanding its territory, the way DNA did a couple of billion years ago-or maybe it was our deep-sea probes that brought it out and gave it the vital shove. had been dredging mud from the ocean bed, and Eveline Hywood was in the L-5 space colony. "You think it might have evolved way down in the deep trenches," Damon said. "Maybe it's been there all along, ever since DNA itself evolved-or maybe not. Perhaps it started off in one of those bizarre enclaves that surround the black smokers where the tectonic plates are pulling apart and has only just begun expanding its territory, the way DNA did a couple of billion years ago-or maybe it was our deep-sea probes that brought it out and gave it the vital shove.
"On the other hand, maybe it drifted into local space from elsewhere in the universe, the way the panspermists think that all all life gets to planetary surfaces. We have probes out there too, don't we-little spaceships patiently trawling for Arrhenius spores and life gets to planetary surfaces. We have probes out there too, don't we-little spaceships patiently trawling for Arrhenius spores and stirring things up stirring things up as they go. Maybe it's been in the system for a long, long time, or maybe it arrived the day before yesterday . . . in which case, there might be more to come, and soon. I can see why you're interested. How different from DNA is its replicatory system?" as they go. Maybe it's been in the system for a long, long time, or maybe it arrived the day before yesterday . . . in which case, there might be more to come, and soon. I can see why you're interested. How different from DNA is its replicatory system?"
"We're still trying to confirm a formula," Karol told him. "We've slipped into the habit of calling it para-DNA, but it's a lousy name because it implies that it's a near chemical relative, and it's not. It coils like DNA-it's definitely a double helix of some kind-but its subunits are quite different. It seems highly unlikely that the two coding chemistries have a common ancestor, even at the most fundamental level of carbon-chain evolution. It's almost certainly a separate creation.
"That's not so surprising; whenever and wherever life first evolved there would surely have been several competing systems, and there's no reason to suppose that one of them would prove superior in every conceivable environment. The hot vents down in the ocean depths are a different world. Life down there is chemosynthetic and thermosynthetic rather than photosynthetic. Maybe there was always room down there for more than one chemistry of life. Perhaps there are other kinds still down there. That's what I'm trying to find out. In the meantime, Eveline's looking at dust samples brought in by probes from the outer solar system. The Oort Cloud is full of junk, and although it's very cold there now it's not beyond the bounds of possibility that life evolved in the outer regions of the solar system when the sun was a lot younger and hotter than it is now, or that spores of some kind could have drifted in from other secondary solar systems. We don't know-yet."
"You don't think this stuff poses any kind of threat threat, do you?" said Damon, intrigued in spite of himself. "It's not likely to start displacing DNA organisms, is it?"
"Until we know more about it," Karol said punctiliously, "it's difficult to know how far it might spread. It's not likely to pose any kind of threat to human beings or any of our associated species, given the kind of nanotech defenses we can now muster, but that's not why it's important. Its mere existence expands the horizons of the imagination by an order of magnitude. What are a few crazy slanderers, even if they're capable of inspiring a few crazy gunmen, compared with this? this?"
"If it is is natural," said Damon, "it could be the basis of a whole new spectrum of organic nanomachines." natural," said Damon, "it could be the basis of a whole new spectrum of organic nanomachines."
"It's not obvious that there'd be huge potential in that," Karol countered. "So far, this stuff hasn't done much in the way of duplicating the achievements of life as we know it, let alone doing things that life as we know it has never accomplished. It might be woefully conventional by comparison with DNA, capable of performing a limited repertoire of self-replicating tricks with no particular skill; if so, it would probably be technologically useless, however interesting it might be in terms of pure science. We're not looking to make another fortune, Damon-when I say this is important, I don't mean commercially."
"I never doubted it for a moment," Damon said drily-and turned abruptly to look at the man who was rapidly coming up behind them. For a moment, it crossed his mind that this might be an Eliminator foot soldier, mad and homicidal, and he tensed reflexively. In fact, the man was an islander-and Karol Kachellek obviously knew him well.
"You'd better come quick, Karol," the man said. "There's something you really need to see. You too, Mr. Hart. It's bad."
Ten.
T.
he package had been dumped into the Web in hypercondensed form, just like any other substantial item of mail, but once it had been downloaded and unraveled it played for a couple of hours of real time. It had been heavily edited, which meant that the claim with which it was prefaced-that nothing in it had been altered or falsified-couldn't be taken at all seriously.
The material was addressed To all lovers of justice, and it was titled Absolute Proof That Conrad Helier Is an Enemy of Mankind. It originated-or purported to originate-from the mysterious Operator 101. Karol Kachellek and Damon watched side by side, in anxious silence, as it played back on a wallscreen in Karol's living quarters.
The first few minutes of film showed a man bound to a huge, thronelike chair. His wrists and ankles were pinned by two pairs of plastic sheaths, each three centimeters broad, which clasped him more tightly if he struggled against them. He was in a sitting position, his head held upright by an elaborate VE hood which neatly enclosed the upper part of his skull. His eyes were covered, but his nose, mouth, and chin were visible. His pelvic region was concealed by a loincloth. There were two feeding tubes whose termini were close to the prisoner's mouth, and there was a third tube connected to a needle lodged in his left forearm, sealed in place by a strip of artificial flesh.
"This man," a voice-over announced, "is Silas Arnett, an intimate friend and close colleague of Conrad Helier. He has been imprisoned in this manner for seventy-two hours, during which time almost all of the protective nanomachinery has been eliminated from his body. He is no longer protected against injury, nor can he control pain."
Damon glanced sideways at Karol, whose face had set like stone. Damon didn't doubt that this was, indeed, Silas Arnett; nor did he doubt that Arnett had been stripped of the apparatus that normally protected him against injury, aging, and the effects of torture.
But if they intend to force some kind of confession out of him, Damon thought, everyone will know that it's worthless. Take away a man's ability to control pain and he can be made to say anything at all. What kind of "absolute proof" is that?
The image abruptly shifted to display a crude cartoon of a virtual courtroom. The accused man who stood in a wooden dock topped with spikes like spearheads was a caricature, but Damon had no difficulty in recognizing him as Silas Arnett. The twelve jurors who were positioned to his left were mere sketches, and the person whose position was directly opposite the camera's-presumably the prosecutor-had features no better defined than theirs. The black-robed judge who faced Arnett was drawn in greater detail, although his profile was subtly exaggerated.
"Please state your name for the record," said the judge. His voice was deep and obviously synthetic.
"I'll do no such thing," said the figure in the dock. Damon recognized Silas Arnett's voice, but in the circumstances he couldn't be sure that the words hadn't been synthesized by a program that had analyzed recordings and isolated the differentiating features of the original.
"Let the name Silas Arnett be entered in the record," said the judge. "I am obliged to point out, Dr. Arnett, that there really is is a record. Every moment of this trial will be preserved for posterity. Any and all of your testimony may be broadcast, so you should conduct yourself as though the whole world were watching. Given the nature of the charges which will be brought against you, that may well be the case." a record. Every moment of this trial will be preserved for posterity. Any and all of your testimony may be broadcast, so you should conduct yourself as though the whole world were watching. Given the nature of the charges which will be brought against you, that may well be the case."
"I didn't think you people bothered with interrogations and trials," Arnett said. It seemed to Damon that Silas-or the software speaking in his stead-was injecting as much contempt into his voice as he could. "I thought you operated strictly on a sentence first, verdict afterwards basis."
"It sometimes happens," said the judge, "that we are certain of one man's guilt, but do not know the extent to which his collaborators and accomplices were involved in his crime. In such cases we are obliged to undertake further inquiries."
"Like the witch-hunters of old," said Arnett grimly. "I suppose it would make it easier to select future victims if the people you select out for murder were forced to denounce others before they die. Any testimony you get by such means is worse than worthless; this is a farce, and you know it."
"We know the truth," said the judge flatly. "Your role is merely to confirm what we know."
"Fuck you," Arnett said with apparent feeling. The obsolete expletive sounded curiously old-fashioned.
"The charges laid against you are these," the judge recited portentously. "First, that between 2095 and 2120 you conspired with Eveline Hywood, Karol Kachellek, Mary Hallam, and others, under the supervision of Conrad Helier, to cause actual bodily harm to some seven billion individuals, that actual bodily harm consisting of the irreversible disabling of their reproductive organs. Second, that you collaborated with Eveline Hywood, Karol Kachellek, Mary Hallam, and others, under the supervision of Conrad Helier, in the design, manufacture, and distribution of the agents of that actual bodily harm, namely the various virus species collectively known as meiotic disrupters or chiasmalytic transformers. You are now formally invited to make a statement in response to these charges."
Damon was astonished by his own reaction, which was more extreme than he could have anticipated. He was seized by an actual physical shock which jolted him and left him trembling. He turned to look at Karol Kachellek, but the blond man wouldn't meet his eye. Karol seemed remarkably unperturbed, considering that he had just been accused of manufacturing and spreading the great plague of sterility whose dire effects he and his collaborators had so magnificently subverted.
"Karol . . .?"
Karol cut Damon off with a swift gesture. "Listen!" he hissed "If you had any real real evidence," the cartoon Arnett said, while the face of his simulacrum took on a strangely haunted look, "you'd have brought these charges in a evidence," the cartoon Arnett said, while the face of his simulacrum took on a strangely haunted look, "you'd have brought these charges in a real real court of law. The simple fact that I'm here demonstrates the absurdity and falseness of any charges you might bring." court of law. The simple fact that I'm here demonstrates the absurdity and falseness of any charges you might bring."
"You've had seventy years to surrender yourself to judgment by another court," said the judge sourly. "This court is the one which has found the means to bring you to trial; it is the one which will judge you now. You will be given every opportunity to enter a defense before sentence is passed upon you."
"I refuse to pander to your delusions. I've nothing to say." Damon found it easy enough to believe that it was Silas Arnett speaking; the crudely drawn figure had his attitude as well as his voice.
"Our investigations will be scrupulous nevertheless," the judge said. "They must be, given that the charges, if true, require sentence of death to be passed upon you."
"You have no right to do that!"
"On the contrary. We hold that what society bestows upon the individual, through the medium of technology, society has every right to withdraw from those who betray their obligations to the commonweal. This court intends to investigate the charges laid against you as fully as it can, and when they are proven it will invite any and all interested parties to pursue those who ought to be standing beside you in the dock. None will escape, no matter what lengths they may have gone to in the hope of evading judgment. There is no station of civilization distant enough, no hiding place buried deeply enough, no deception clever enough, to place a suspect beyond our reach."
What's that supposed to mean? Damon wondered. Where do they think Conrad Helier is, if he's still alive? Living under the farside of the moon? Or are they talking about Eveline? Are there Eliminators in the Lagrange colonies too?
"The people you've named are entirely innocent of any crime," Arnett said anxiously. "You're insane if you think otherwise."
Damon tried to judge from the timbre of the voice the extent to which Silas's pain-control system might have been dismantled. So far, he gave no real indication of having been forced to suffer dire distress. If there were indeed a reality behind this charade Silas Arnett's body must by now be an empire at war, and he must be feeling all the violence of the conflict. The tireless molecular agents which benignly regulated the cellular commerce of his emortality must have gone down beneath the onslaught of custom-designed assassins: Eliminators in miniature, which had exterminated his careful symbiotes and left their detritus to be flushed out by his kidneys. Even if Silas had not yet been subjected to actual torture he must have felt the returning grip of his own mortality, and the deadly cargo of terror which came with it. Had the terror been carefully expurgated from his voice-or was all this mere sham?
The picture dissolved and was replaced by an image of Conrad Helier, which Damon immediately recognized as a famous section of archive footage.
"We must regard this new plague not as a catastrophe but as a challenge," Helier stated in ringing tones. "It is not, as the Gaian Mystics would have us believe, the vengeance of Mother Earth upon her rapists and polluters, and no matter how fast and how far it spreads it cannot and will not destroy the species. Its advent requires a monumental effort from us, but we are capable of making that effort. We have, at least in their early stages, technologies which are capable of rendering us immune to aging, and we are rapidly developing technologies which will allow us to achieve in the laboratory what fewer and fewer women are capable of doing outside it: conceive and bear children. Within twenty or thirty years we will have what our ancestors never achieved: democratic control over human fertility, based in a new reproductive system. We have been forced to this pass by evil circumstance, but let us not undervalue it; it is a crucial step forward in the evolution of the species, without which the gifts of longevity and perpetual youth might have proved a double-edged sword. . . ."
The speech faded out. It was easy enough for Damon to figure out why the clip had been inserted. Recontextualized by the accusations which the anonymous judge had brought against Silas Arnett, it implied that Conrad Helier had thought of the transformer plagues as a good thing: an opportunity rather than a curse.
Damon had no alternative but to ask himself the questions demanded by the mysterious Operator. Had Conrad Helier been capable of designing the agents of the plague as well as the instruments which had blunted its effects? If capable, might he have been of a mind to do it?
The answer to the first question, he was certain in his own mind, was yes yes. He was not nearly as certain that the answer to the second question was no no-but he remained uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had never actually known known his biological father; all he had ever known was the oppressive force of his father's plans for him and his father's hopes for him. He had rebelled against those, but his rebellion couldn't possibly commit him to believing his biological father; all he had ever known was the oppressive force of his father's plans for him and his father's hopes for him. He had rebelled against those, but his rebellion couldn't possibly commit him to believing this this. In any case, he did did know the other people named by the judge. Karol was awkward and diffident, Eveline haughty and high-handed, but Silas and Mary had been everything he could have required of them. Surely it was unimaginable that they could have done what they now stood accused of doing? know the other people named by the judge. Karol was awkward and diffident, Eveline haughty and high-handed, but Silas and Mary had been everything he could have required of them. Surely it was unimaginable that they could have done what they now stood accused of doing?
The image cut back to the courtroom, but the moment Damon heard Silas Arnett speak he knew that a lot of time had elapsed. The alteration in the quality of the prisoner's voice left no doubt that a substantial section had been cut from the tape.
"What do you want want from me?" Arnett hissed, in a voice full of pain and exhaustion. "What the fuck do you from me?" Arnett hissed, in a voice full of pain and exhaustion. "What the fuck do you want? want?"
It was not the virtual judge who replied this time, although there was no reason to think that the second synthesized voice issued from a different source. "We want to know whose idea it was to launch the Third Plague War," said the figure to Silas Arnett's right-the figure who had always occupied center stage but had never claimed it. "We want to know where we can find incontrovertible evidence of the extent of the conspiracy. We want to know the names of everyone who was involved. We want to know where Conrad Helier is now, and what name he is currently using."
"Conrad's dead. I saw him die! I saw him die! It's all on tape. All you have to do is look it up!" Silas's voice was almost hysterical, but he seemed to be making Herculean efforts to control himself. Damon had to remind himself that It's all on tape. All you have to do is look it up!" Silas's voice was almost hysterical, but he seemed to be making Herculean efforts to control himself. Damon had to remind himself that everything everything on the tape could be the product of clever artifice. He could have forged this confrontation himself, without ever requiring Silas Arnett to be present. on the tape could be the product of clever artifice. He could have forged this confrontation himself, without ever requiring Silas Arnett to be present.
"You did not see Conrad Helier die," said the accusing voice, without the slightest hint of doubt. "The tape entered into the public record is a forgery, and someone switched the DNA samples in order to confuse the medical examiner who carried out the postmortem. Was that you, Dr. Arnett?"
There was no immediate reply. The tape was interrupted again; there was no attempt to conceal the cut. When it resumed, Silas looked even more haggard; he was silent now, but he gave the impression of having exhausted his capacity for protest. Damon could imagine the sound of Silas's excised screams easily enough. Only the day before he had listened to poor Lenny Garon recording a tape which it might yet be his privilege to edit and doctor and convert into a peculiar kind of art. Were he to offer to take on that job Lenny Garon would probably be delighted-and would probably be equally delighted to hear his own screams, carefully intensified, on the final cut.
"It was my idea," Silas said in a hollow, grating voice saturated with defeat. "Mine. I did it. The others never knew. I used them, but they never knew."
"They all all knew," said the inquisitor firmly. knew," said the inquisitor firmly.
"No they didn't," Silas insisted. "They trusted me, absolutely. They never knew. They still don't-the ones who are still alive, that is. I did it on my own. I designed the plague and set it free, so that Conrad could do what he had to do. He never knew that the transformers weren't natural. He died not knowing. He really did die not knowing not knowing."
"It's very noble of you to take all the guilt upon yourself," said the other in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "But it's not true, is it?"
"Yes," said Silas Arnett.
This time, the editor left in the sound of screaming. Damon shivered, even though he knew that he and everyone else who had managed to download the tape before Interpol deleted it was being manipulated for effect. This was melodrama, not news-but how many people, in today's world, could tell the difference? How many people would be able to say: It's just some third-rate pornotape stitched together by an engineer. It's just a sequence of ones and zeros, like any other cataract of code. It doesn't mean a thing.
Suddenly, Diana Caisson's reaction to the discovery that Damon was using her template as a base for the sex tape he had been commissioned to make didn't seem quite so unreasonable. In using Silas Arnett as the basis of this elaborate fiction the people behind the cartoon judge were not merely exploiting him but destroying him. Silas would never be the same, even if they restored his internal technology. Even if all of this were shown to be a pack of lies, he would never be the same in the eyes of other men-which was where everyone had to live in the world of the Net, no matter how reclusive they chose to be.
The prosecutor spoke again. "The truth, Dr. Arnett, is that at least five persons held a secret conference in May 2095, when Conrad Helier laid out his plan for the so-called salvation of the world. The first experiments with the perfected viruses were carried out in the winter of 209899, using rats, mice, and human tissue cultures. When one of his collaborators-was it you you, Dr. Arnett?-asked Conrad Helier whether he had the right to play God, his reply was 'The post is vacant. No one else seems to be interested in taking it up. If we don't, who will?' That's the truth, Dr. Arnett, isn't it? Isn't that exactly exactly what he said?" what he said?"
The cartoon Arnett's reply to that was unexpected. "Who are you?" he asked, his pain seemingly mingled with suspicion. "I know you, don't I? If I saw your real face, I'd recognize it, wouldn't I?"
The answer was equally surprising. "Of course you would," the other said with transparently false gentleness. "And I know you, Silas Arnett. I know more about you than you can possibly imagine. That's why you can't hide what you know."
At this point, without any warning, the picture cut out. It was replaced by a text display which said:
CONRAD HELIER IS AN ENEMY OF MANKIND.
FIND AND IDENTIFY CONRAD HELIER.
MORE PROOFS WILL FOLLOW.
-OPERATOR 101
Damon stared numbly at the words; their crimson letters glowed eerily against a black background, as if they had been written in fire across the face of an infinite and starless void.
Eleven.
D.
amon's first thought was that he had to get in touch with Madoc Tamlin, and that he had to do so privately. He was spared the need to apologize to Karol Kachellek because Karol obviously had calls of his own to make and he too wanted to make them without being overheard. Instead of having to cover his own retreat, Damon found himself being bundled out of the room. He ran all the way back to his hotel, but he went to one of the public booths rather than using the unit in his room.
He checked his incoming mail in case there was anything important awaiting his attention, although he had set alarms to sound if Madoc or Eveline Hywood had called. The only name that caused him to pause as he scanned the list was Lenny Garon. He almost took a look at that message, just in case Madoc had decided to send some item of information by a roundabout route for security reasons, but it seemed more sensible to go directly to the source if it were feasible.
Unfortunately, Madoc seemed to be lying low. Tamlin's personal number should have reached his beltpack, but it didn't; the call was rerouted to Madoc's apartment, where Diana Caisson fielded the call. She didn't take it in the VE that Damon had designed, though; she must have had the machine set up so that any call would automatically be switched to the caller's VE. The booth had set the image of Damon's head and shoulders against a simple block pattern-one of the most primitive still in use in the USNA.
"Going back to the basics, Damon?" Diana asked, although she must have had a readout to inform her that he was calling from a public phone in Kaunakakai. After she'd finished the contrived sneer she looked him defiantly in the eye, as if to say that it was about time he made a start on his apologies.
"Never mind the smart remarks, Diana," Damon said. "I need to get hold of Madoc as soon as possible."
"He's out," she said sourly. Her face blurred slightly as she moved back from her own unit's camera, reflexively trying to cover her realization that he hadn't called to talk to her.
"I know that. I also know that he doesn't want to be located, even by me-but I need to get a message to him with the least possible delay. Will you do that for me, please?"
Damon could see that Diana was tempted to tell him where to put his message, but she thought better of it.
"What message?" she asked curiously.
"Can you tell him that in view of recent developments I really need that package we discussed. He'll understand what I mean and why. I've authorized him to draw more cash on the card I gave him, so that he can pull out all the stops. I'll be flying back tonight or early tomorrow, and I need to know what he's dug up as soon as I land. If he can meet me at the airport that would be good, but not if it takes him away from significant investigations. Have you got all that?"
"Of course I've got it," she snapped back. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? What's all this shit about recent developments recent developments and and the package we discussed? the package we discussed? Why are you trying to hide things from Why are you trying to hide things from me? me? We had a We had a row row, that's all!"
Damon had to suppress an impulse to react in kind, but he knew that matching wrath with wrath would only escalate the conversation into a shouting match. Instead, he found the most soothing tone he could and said: "I'm sorry, Di-I'm a bit wound up. I'm not trying to keep secrets from you, but this is is a public booth. Just ask Madoc to do what he can, and tell him he has extra resources if he needs them to speed things along. I really need you to do this for me, Diana. In a couple of days, if you want to, we can talk-but right now Silas Arnett is in bad trouble, and I have to do everything I possibly can to help find him. Bear with me, please. I have to go now." a public booth. Just ask Madoc to do what he can, and tell him he has extra resources if he needs them to speed things along. I really need you to do this for me, Diana. In a couple of days, if you want to, we can talk-but right now Silas Arnett is in bad trouble, and I have to do everything I possibly can to help find him. Bear with me, please. I have to go now."
"I know what's going on," she said quickly. She didn't want him to cut the connection.
"That's okay, Di," he said reassuringly. "It's no big secret-but it's not something I want broadcast, certainly not in the direction of the news tapes. If you're keeping up with the news, you'll realize why I'm in a hurry."
Her perplexed expression told him that she hadn't been monitoring the Web for new information regarding Silas Arnett, although Madoc must have been alerted to the new Operator 101 package at least as quickly as Karol Kachellek's assistants. Perhaps Madoc had deliberately killed the alarms in the apartment because Diana was there-although it was careless of him, if so, to have allowed his calls to be automatically diverted from his beltpack to his home phone.
"Why didn't you tell me that your father was Conrad Helier?" Diana demanded, still trying to stop him from breaking the connection.