'Perhaps more surveillance devices?' Jessica de la Croix suggested. She crossed her legs, and normally the hiss of her sheer black tights compensated for the commonplaces she uttered, the utter fatuousness of her proposals. There was always one at executive level-somebody smart and very hungry, but without the least soupcon of imagination. Even Slade could do better than CCTV, for Christ's sake. But Jessica was an asset to Fulgur, and Pelly knew it. Huang knew it. Hell, Fulgur himself probably knew it (and there were those rumours, subterranean as termites, about a radical project he'd initiated before his sudden death). Unless Legal Affairs poached Addison from Cortech, they'd find no one in the entire country with as comprehensive knowledge of international corporate law as Jessica. Sometimes Pelly wondered whether a near photographic memory commandeered too many brain cells or synapses or whatever, so that not enough were left over for creative thinking. She was a great fuck, though, and absolutely as discreet as her profession required.
At a signal, Huang's p.a. clicked through the next slides in the presentation. The images were cleverly arranged. (What else? Pelly himself had done it.) The latest bombing incident, first from a distance, then closer and closer shots, till they saw only a corpse . . . then parts of a corpse . . . then flesh that could have been an abstract mural . . . then bright gore. The sequence interspersed with graffiti in bright gory colours, everywhere in the city, and spreading like a virus: fuck augers, kill the Fulgur transfucks, Fulgur hires terrs, bomb Fulgur not babies.
'As you can see,' Huang said, 'we have a situation.'
'Do we really need to worry about some street vandals?' Claire Murphy asked. Most of the others nodded, and the new blimpish bloke with the beard that didn't quite conceal his scars-on loan from Jo'burg, supposed to be some sort of genius with net space-muttered 'storm in a teacup' under his breath. Obviously one of those pathetic sods who could copulate with the cyber world, but not the real one.
Lopez sat up from his disarming slouch and indicated with a flick of a finger that he'd like to speak. Nobody could ignore those brazen eyes. He'd have made a formidable journalist, even Pelly would give him that, the sort that smiled as he severed your vocal cords with a mellifluous phrase. It was rumoured the Brazilian commanded seven or eight languages; though Pelly's own school Mandarin was a bit rusty, just last week he'd overheard Lopez discussing the latest provincial poetry with Huang, or maybe it was the latest provincial elections. Currently Human Resources, and one of the youngest team members.
Pelly caught Kantor's eye, the glint in it. This would be good.
Lopez indicated the screen, and they all studied it once more. A caricatured simu with the ubiquitous Fulgur two-headed dragon emblazoned on his chest, wearing a lit bomb like a cap or turban on his head.
'I don't believe we should minimise the potential of underground movements.' Golden Boy's English was perfect, unaccented. 'History has repeatedly shown that they can be very potent indeed.'
Slade reasserted himself. 'Fabio's quite right to be concerned about the growing unrest. Never ignore the grassroots, I always say. These thugs may start with graffiti, but barricades and Molotov cocktails and burning effigies aren't far behind.' He tapped a forefinger against the side of his nose, a sure sign of an impending witticism. 'I daresay we might find these artists jobs right here at Fulgur-in media or PR, say-where their talents could be put to productive use.'
'With all due respect, Russell'-there was very little humility in the smile Lopez directed at Slade-'I fear this may be a bit more serious than a few scrawled slogans. And already, at least in part, an internal problem.' His smile broadened. 'A Human Resources problem, you might say.'
He had them now, of course. Huang nodded to his secretary, who switched to a blank screen and took a seat.
'Please continue, Mr Lopez,' Huang said.
Surreptitiously, Keith activated the recorder function on his wrister. Lopez was a daredevil, but reliable; these Insec types were one of Randall's smartest moves. Still, good security work never overlooked any possibility, no matter how remote. And Huang actually believed he was above such measures. Overbearing Asians, think they run everything. It amused Randall to let them switch off in-house surveillance, but he wouldn't be satisfied with a transcript; he always insisted on replaying the sessions for himself. With the new sensors, you could see the slightest twitch, hear the slightest mutter; just about smell their sweat. Orientals never seemed to sweat.
'I've had reports that some of our own employees are unhappy with the divisions which rely heavily on cognoscens talent,' Lopez said. 'Very unhappy indeed, in certain cases.'
'Rumours, Fabio?' Jessica asked.
'I'm not going to insult your intelligence by repeating that old chestnut where there's smoke etc., but I will say that I'm fully capable of distinguishing between substantiated and unsubstantiated information,' he said, his voice smooth as vanilla ice cream. The cholesterol hit came later. 'While nothing is gained by being unduly alarmist, we can't disregard the long history of fabricated terrorist attacks, often for political gain.'
'Such as?' Mfana asked, pawing his beard. He was always touchy about his homeland.
'Such as the burning of German Reichstag in 1933. Such as the self-inflicted GEL epidemic in the U.S. in the late 90s. Such as what we may be witnessing right now.'
'No one has ever established that the outbreak of GEL was a propaganda tool,' Jessica said.
'It's unlikely that it will go so far, Jessica, but should you ever need airtight documentary evidence for court, Dr Huang knows that he can rely on my sources,' Fabio said. 'The Purists may not be outlawed, but some of their activities are at best questionable, and possibly downright criminal.' His eyes rested for a moment on Keith. 'Fulgur can hardly desire or afford such employees.'
'Isn't that a matter for Internal Security, or at least the police?' Keith asked with a touch of belligerence.
Fabio permitted himself another smile. 'It's the responsibility of Human Resources to cooperate fully with government. We all know that the simus are beginning to agitate for a new Human Rights Act.'-a sullen mutter of 'depends on how you define human' from Keith, largely ignored-'It's in fact Fulgur's express policy to support them in this endeavour-within the limits of the law, of course. I liaise regularly with the authorities, who keep a careful eye on simus and Purists both.'
'Not careful enough, it seems, when people are being blown up,' Jessica said.
'Jessica's right, there are simus, and simus,' Keith said. 'My son Tim's in a couple of classes with one of ours. This Zach is a real troublemaker. Breaks every rule he can, and then some. You know how it is, kids hear things. At least one incident with the police already, a lot of earlier stuff that's sealed. Savage stuff, too. And Tim told me our prize simu was there at the club when the bomb went off. He disappeared right after his date was blown to bits. Hasn't pitched up at school since, the police have been questioning all the kids and teachers. Damned suspicious, isn't it? Anybody else-any decent human being-would've stayed and done what he could to help. Like Tim and his mates did. One of their friends lost a leg, another-Litchfield's girl-has been so traumatised that her parents have had to send her away for treatment.'
'How sweet. A Purist in our midst,' Mfana said rather sourly.
'Purist isn't a dirty word!' Keith said. 'I'm not a party type, but if someone talks sense, I listen.' He swept his arm in a wide circle, nearly overturning Pelly's glass of water. 'And so should you. Fulgur needs its simus, but not the dangerous ones-the aberrant ones.' His lips were moist, as though he couldn't swallow fast enough. 'The devis.'
'The law makes provision for non-sapiens castration,' Jessica said. 'In severe cases of antisocial personality disorder, particularly uncontrollable aggression.'
At once talk broke through the surface calm of the meeting, blisters of claim and counterclaim in a seething pool of verbal mud. Clay and mud have been used since ancient times to draw impurities from the body. Fabio kept his eyes on Claire, whose husband's 'snog blog' was beginning to stray from the indiscreet to the inflammatory. Her salary was decent, but it was her husband's network of sites which gave them the income to finance the country house, the carbon exemptions, the nanny, the holidays abroad; holidays, according to Mfana, which afforded breathtaking views of Table Mountain. A sociologist with a background in political and economic theory-and a father who had one time been Deputy Minister of Finance-she was something of anomaly at Fulgur, though her work in building virtual environments was considered exemplary. Most men would find her sleek, dark elegance attractive; Fabio found her feline. The sort of woman whose nails his mother had manicured. Nevertheless, the sort of woman who had her uses. Mfana was a frequent guest in her home.
Claire said very little, her attention following remark to heated remark. One opal fingernail punctuated the corner of her mouth whenever Keith spoke.
Huang raised a hand. 'Ladies, gentlemen, please. We're here to formulate a plan of action with regard to the escalating defamation of Fulgur and its cognoscens programmes, not to debate human rights issues. In a corporation of our breadth, the whole political spectrum-the legal political spectrum, I hardly need say-is bound to be represented. In fact, this is entirely desirable, hence the Board's latest directives.' He glanced openly at his wrister. 'Now are there any relevant proposals?'
Pelly squirmed like a schoolboy with the right answer. It was never any different at these meetings-the same few vying for approval; most of the others hoping not to be called on to recite.
'It won't be too difficult to mount what we in PR like to call a raid-TV spots, net saturation, a decent song or two (I've got just the rapper in mind). Something along the lines of the classic black is beautiful model,' Pelly said. 'And for the more conservative, some well-documented material about how the simus are helping with research into psychotic disorders, intelligence enhancement, that sort of thing.' He grinned, entranced by his own cleverness. 'Maybe even an announcement that Fulgur is near a breakthrough on the neuropsychology of terrorism.'
'There's no such thing.' Kantor rarely spoke at all, whether in a boardroom, his office, or a lab, though everyone knew his work on metapsychology was crucial to far more than the rehabilitation project. Over lunch, however, he'd been known to say too salty today or Geraldine replaced the light pad in the bathroom last night. 'Only fools would believe there's a clear-cut terrorist psychopathology. Even multidisciplinary research has yielded imperfect understanding of what is a very complex phenomenon.'
'No problem,' Pelly said. 'I'll need fifteen, twenty minutes of your time, say, to get down the key concepts.'
Kantor examined the biro in his hand as though it might write his next research paper on its own. Then with a small shrug he looked towards Huang for help.
'Thank you, Mr Pelly, I have no doubts whatsoever in your ability to draft an effective campaign despite the awkward propensities of the more scientifically inclined members of our client base,' Huang said.
Pelly beamed, which decided Huang. The man would have to be replaced. Despite his extensive network of media contacts and decided PR skills-he'd handled that last press conference with both boyish charm and finesse-he lacked the necessary subtlety for this particular division. Perhaps a place could be found for him in Business Communications. Even better-Multimedia Entertainment, which would suit his flamboyant talents. Huang would have a word with Maurice. 'A lateral move, with much better opportunities for advancement. Someone like you is wasted in Neurocognition.' It was always bad practice to offend PR people, you never knew where they might turn up a few years down the road. And Fulgur policy had always been clear-employee loyalty paid for itself many times over in increased efficiency, word-of-mouth marketing, fewer security risks.
'Mr Lopez?' Huang could see the amused lift to a corner of the man's mouth, the almost sleepy crease to his eyelids. Not for the first time, Huang wondered if there were something in Lopez's genetic atlas which didn't appear in his records. Fulgur's clearance procedure was exacting, but there were always ways to hide secrets-or aberrations. Especially for someone in Lopez's position. Perhaps Manu could have another look. He was very meticulous, very discreet. Very loyal.
'I'm certain Jim will mount an outstanding PR offensive, but it would be prudent to fight the problem on several fronts,' Lopez said.
'And you have a suggestion?' Huang asked.
'Oh yes, I've got a suggestion. A rather radical suggestion.'
'Then perhaps you'll be kind enough to share it with the team.'
'Naturally. We'll use one of our own simus-this Zach will be the perfect choice-as bait to flush out any radical activists. And not only in our own ranks.'
'How?' Kathy asked bluntly. 'Some kind of undercover-' A grating American accent. With bleached hair the colour of greasy chips and florid make-up to match, Kathy had one of the most astute minds in the room. And two doctorates, one in mathematics, one in biological engineering. '-undercover operation? Spying, in other words?'
'Not at all.'
'Then what?'
'Mr Huang will confirm that Fulgur is prepared to commit a certain amount of its resources to supporting the fledgling Janus party.'
'Shrewd move,' Claire said. 'Judicious.'
'A bunch of simu misfits, plus a few teenage hangers-on!' Keith exclaimed.
'Hardly that,' Fabio said mildly. 'It's inevitable that simus want a voice; their own representation.'
