Chapter 12. Broker and Blocker
Lucas convened an impromptu hallway meeting with Marshall Ploof and Spiro Ling, the Talbot defectors.
"Gentlemen," Lucas said, gripping each man's hand, "you have access to the databases and the Memetic Calculus files are on your desks." He added, "Pelius Research is at your disposal. Whatever ideas you need explored, pushed to their logical conclusion, run into the ground, believe me, we can speed it all up for you."
"Terrific," Ploof said. "That's what was lacking at Talbot. Management with vision. They didn't believe in our work."
"If I were to hire people," Spiro Ling said, fishing for the right words, "who want to partake in the experiments..."
"Are you referring to implants, Dr. Ling?" asked Lucas.
Ling nodded.
"You will be pleased to know that we have volunteers for that sort of work."
"Fantastic," Ling said, and his face brightened. "And it's cleared with legal?"
"Of course," Lucas answered. "The Feds won't catch us napping, not on paperwork. It's all well defined in our volunteers' contracts. We have signed documents, initialed by fair witnesses."
"I feel like a weight has been lifted off me," Ploof said. "Getting fired was the best thing that ever happened. Mr. Perth, I have one other question. I have a young researcher who I worked with at Talbot, a good fellow named Isaac. He's expressed interest in coming to work with me here."
"If you want him, he's hired. Just say the word. The accountants may cringe, but the Pelius wallet is open for you both, but of course that's because we expect great achievements from you. Your reputations precede you, but we want to see them become a legacy."
The two plunged into their work, just as Lucas expected they would. He visited them often, without micromanaging their labs. It was not his role to oversee the daily activities, but Lucas noticed eyes in adjacent labs staring out at him like dogs in car windows. They seemed to wonder why there was special treatment for the new lab. In the mornings, Lucas stopped by Ploof and Ling's growing lab and took coffee orders. He sent one of his secretaries to Seattle's Best and sometimes for lunch as well, all to keep the lab at work. During the day, he corralled other scientists into the lab to meet the amazing Ling and the charismatic Ploof, hoping to funnel ideas into aggressive minds, minds that Talbot had swaddled and smothered for too long.
Special briefings occurred every evening for the members of the new lab, briefings that introduced Ling and Ploof to every outlandish GRAINer theory under exploration at Pelius. Secretarial trips to the coffee shop occurred late into the afternoon as well, with Ling drinking coffee right up until he left the office at ten o'clock in the evening. Ploof and Isaac stayed almost as late as Ling, but no one worked as late as Lucas. He sometimes never left his office because he could not sleep in his quiet apartment.
The nearness of Lucas's goal inflamed his motivation, but none of his actions were done with enjoyment. He had a anxious compulsion that urged him to keep pushing. When he did sleep, in the small hours of the morning, he went to bed grinding his teeth about Talbot, and the alarm that woke him was the same thing: hatred of Talbot. Time, ticking time, the bane of his existence, reminded him of lost opportunity, and never of where he was but where he expected to be, wanted to be. The goals he planned to accomplish each month took lifetimes, and therefore he pinned himself down in an unstable, miserable process of forever catching up to his plans, racing after the deadlines, making daily, weekly, monthly, five, ten, and fifteen year project plans on the Gantt charts engraved inside his skull. An ordinary project manager rarely has time to live in the moment, because every release piles new issues on the old ones, but Lucas's soul was already standing at the end of his larger goal, looking down with red-hot disdain at the steps his body still needed to take.
His management of the research and development made Pelius a global name. Moreover, he somehow managed to keep R&D under budget, which, given the breakthroughs and inventions, amazed everyone inside the company and on Wall Street. Even with all the success, he stayed out of the public eye, letting Arrica own the spotlight. He enjoyed his autonomy because he and Arrica spoke only when business demanded it. Other than the weekly meetings and the mandatory reports he made directly to her, she did not invite him into her office any longer. She nicknamed him "Gollum" because he stayed away from natural light, stayed holed up in either his office or in the Pelius labyrinth of top-secret research labs. A rumor also reached Arrica that Lucas never looked in mirrors. She asked Lucas if it was true.
She asked, "Are you a ghoul?"
"I think you mean vampire." Lucas laughed.
"Are you a vampire?" She smirked. "Is that why you grew the beard? To hide your fangs? Will you be recognized?"
Lucas laughed at it all, not caring because he knew that, yes, he was looking for the precious, that one discovery that would make them the Apple, the Microsoft of the age. That was why he focused on the lab of Ploof and Ling. In Spiro Ling, Lucas saw his own personal Newton, his Einstein, his rope for the final climb into the ivory towers of history. Still on the rise, he foresaw no fall, no impediment to his ultimate victory. Potentially, Ling meant the demise of Talbot.
One of Lucas's only stumbling blocks came from straight-laced Basil Jackson, the nuisance of progress, who continually demanded the same things that customers sought: to look inside the back rooms of Pelius. Basil went to bat for disgruntled customers, and rather than simply pay lip service and offer to "look into it" for the customer, he actually followed through. And he was deaf, deaf to what Lucas told him. Basil came back time and again, requesting the same thing, once for Axon, then IBM, then Johns Hopkins, then Genentech.
"They want more information," Basil would say. "The feedback is unsatisfactory," he would complain. "They are not a happy client and it's my job to make them happy, to satisfy their requirements."
Now the most powerful account manager at Pelius and Arrica's lapdog, Basil enjoyed a certain amount of clout, and with a squeaky-clean background, Lucas saw no end in sight to Basil's climb. One of the executive secretaries alluded to the idea that Arrica might step aside as CEO and insert Basil into the top position, which would be a devastating blow to the progress of Pelius. He would have rules stuck into every nook and cranny within the first week. In his spare time, Basil sat on a board for the definition of Artificial Ethics, a cause that intended to instill ground rules for future artificial intelligence systems. Basil, that earthy dolt, would be pleased to satisfy every dissatisfied client, and thus employ the bureaucracy that would be the death of Pelius. If Arrica knew nothing else, she understood the need for the buffer between the clients and the magic behind the curtain.
A day spent in the lab of Ploof and Ling was like a day at an insane asylum. Whenever Lucas walked in, it was like he caught a bunch of kids torturing small animals. But it wasn't animals they abused. It was their own minds and bodies. One day he walked in and saw three lab techs drooling and walking into walls, as if lobotomized, drugged, or mentally handicapped. When he looked at the employees' arms, he suddenly understood why the lab policy required long sleeves. On the three zombies' forearms, Lucas noticed several USB ports sticking out. They bumped into the walls, slurred their words, and shuddered from shocks, while attempting to describe what they were feeling to other lab members who observed and took notes. After witnessing it, Lucas isolated the lab, posted additional security guards around the building, and kept it all quiet. More times than he could count, Lucas reminded Ling that human tests could be done in another location, secretly, yet Ling's people continued testing on their own bodies. They outsourced a few of the crudest experiments, but some of the most galling tests they still did right there in Dublin, California.
Lucas understood why Talbot fired Ling. He was
equal parts genius and madman, and appropriately, Ling's idol was the famous inventor, Nikola Tesla. Ling kept a poster of Tesla in his office and also named the project "Tesla." Perhaps Mr. Tesla would have approved of Ling's adaptation of the Memetic Calculus theory into a full-blown application.
Ploof hung around Ling like a vulture, and Lucas enjoyed watching how Ploof started adopting Ling's characteristics. One week after Ling put up his Tesla poster, Ploof bought one, too.
On a Wednesday morning, the day of the weekly staff meeting, Lucas sat in Arrica's office with the rest of the Pelius upper management. Arrica arrived at her office ten minutes late. Lucas and other managers waited impatiently for her. Basil walked in directly behind her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, "but the charity auction began this morning. I expect you all to make an appearance today."
An account manager said, "That's going to be tough with meetings all day."
"No, you must pop in, if only for a minute. And buy something, too. It's for preemies..."
"Crack babies," a salesman joked.
"Yes, them too." Arrica chuckled politely. "Ok, let's get started. Let's look at the reports. Let's keep it crisp."
A slideshow started to run, showing six different charts on the first page.
"Those look the same as last week," Arrica said, "am I right?"
"Very slight changes," Basil said, "hardly worth mentioning. It was a steady week."
"Next slide. I see a spike in South America. What's going on there? Who is rocking the boat this time - Venezuela, Bolivia?"
"Strikes in Ecuador." A woman in the corner of the room piped up, holding a pencil in the air. "A slight disruption in contracts. Too many lefties."
The members of the meeting began to speak freely.
"What happened to big oil? Can't they control that?"
"Not like they used to."
"They've lost their edge."
"You mean they can no longer assassinate whomever they please."
"Mercs are harder to come by these days."
"That's what you think!"
"Mercs?"
"Mercenaries."
"Nothing wrong with mercenaries. They are the cornerstone of modern warfare."
"Let's stay on track, people," Arrica said. "Next slide."
"Cash flow is going to be a problem soon."
"What's the story there? Finance?"
A financial analyst pushed up his glasses. "It's hard to find cash when we are buying up every company on five continents. We're running dry. You said six months ago that we'd stop borrowing or issue more stock. It hasn't happened, and my hands are tied with the banks."
"Fine. Fine, we'll get an infusion from somewhere."
"From where? We keep getting infusions. Is this a business or a hospital?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Unless you have a billionaire dying to donate, times are getting tight."
"Basil - find us a Howard Hughes."
"Why haven't the stock analysts devalued us yet?"
"Good question. Lucas?"
"Why would I know?"
"We're still riding the wave of late adopters who invested. The Google effect."
"Next slide. Major accounts. Who torpedoed Hitachi?"
"Ms. Pelius, I regret to report a major issue in the account. They are, to say the least, very upset."
"Has the relationship gone sour?"
"Hmm...well..."
"If you're still speaking to them, it's salvageable. Basil - you help her on it."
"It's pretty sour."
"Sour milk or sour grapes?"
"Grapes."
"No big deal. It's raisins instead of wine."
"What's the issue?"
"They are getting hammered on steel, and global construction isn't what it used to be."
"I miss the good old days."
"Slide. Slide. Next one. Next. Stop. Something looks different here."
"I know what you are going to ask. This chart is in Euros, not Dollars."
"Since when do we show numbers in Euros?"
"To satisfy our Paris office. They want to assert that they have some power, but rest assured, they don't. I put up a fight and let them think I'm irked about it. But they want to speak Euro."
"Good cop, bad cop?"
"Pretty much. That's a good way to describe it. I fought it, and then I recruited a mediator that owed me a favor. They wanted more, and for all I care they can have the victory. But now I have a nice compromise in my pocket for when something comes along worth fighting for."
"Good work."
"If you just go to the next slide, that one is presented in dollars."
"Fine. Fine. That looks normal."
"It's the right slope anyway. Straight up."
"That's beautiful."
"Slide."
"Recruiting."
"Wow."
"Grad students are knocking the doors down. The enrollment lists are fat. We even have volunteers."
"What a change. I remember when you were waiting outside of professors' doors at office hours."
"Don't remind us."
"That's just great sales."
A round of applause echoed into the skylight over Arrica's office.
"FYI: drinks tonight on Sara's houseboat. Don't bring anything, she already has drinks and catering. Right, Sara?"
"You're all invited."
"Slide."
"Risk management. Dismal as ever."
"It's unfortunate that you guys always follow the recruitment slide."
"Several new lawsuits have been initiated."
"A sign of success."
"Hyenas always want the lion's scraps."
"Let's not discuss these lawsuits right now. Let's take them offline. Do you have time tonight?"
"We'll be working here until around seven o'clock."
"That's it? You go home at seven o'clock?"
"I'll stop by. Lucas, you'll need to go over this stuff, too. Let's get together around 6:30."
"I can't. Not until after eight o'clock."
"Eight-oh-one, then. Figure out amongst yourselves who's doing the briefing."
"Then we'll go to Sara's."
"Let's just meet on Sara's boat?"
"Great idea. We'll crash the party with legalese."
"Do you have a pontoon we can use for meetings?"
"I have a thirty-foot sailboat."
"Only thirty?"
"Slide. Project plans. Is the box full?"
"Yes and no. It's getting rearranged today. The auditors found two dead-end projects and we have to reorganize. That means re-slotting a few projects. But our XP guys are picking up the slack. They have ideas for the next six years."
"XP?"
"The 'extreme programmers.'"
"What a name. Fuckin' geeks."
"Am I the only one that suspects that there is a meth-lab somewhere down in that basement?"
"They don't know the first thing about lab equipment. Otherwise, I would suspect it. I think it's just plain old coffee. Bad coffee, too."
"Do they ever sleep?"
"Do you?"
The Ploof and Ling lab was in full operation, and the new kid, Isaac proved a key player in several high-test situations. Several months passed before Lucas managed to meet Isaac. The laugh lines on Isaac's young face made him amiable, a pleasure to speak with, but Lucas tried to get under his skin and find out more about him. During his third meeting with Isaac, Lucas asked about Talbot.
"They are slow, sluggish. Past their prime," Isaac said. "The idea-well is running dry over there."
Lucas said, "They are feudal. Old fashioned."
"Is that feudal or futile?"
"Both." Lu
cas laughed. "But now tell me, did you ever get to meet the old man?"
"Who?"
Before he could say the name, Lucas had to clear his throat. "Jovan. Marcus Jovan."
"Once. Once he came through our lab, making a rare appearance. I never saw him other than that. It's the worst job in the company - CEO. Who would want to be CEO? You'd have to hate yourself just to pursue it."
Lucas gritted his teeth and smiled.
"It's thankless," Isaac added. "They always say shit rolls downhill, but it starts at the top. The CEO has to dole out the shit, meaning he touches it all. He's a shit broker. Kind of like another Broker I know."
"Oh? What kind of Broker?"
"Jobs. He's a technical headhunter, so to speak."
"A headhunter?"
Isaac stared at Lucas, and Lucas looked away. Isaac continued, "But I'm happy to be away from Talbot. I would like nothing more than to see that company crumble. To me they represent the old military-industrial complex. I'm not some bleeding-heart. I just don't like making people like Marcus Jovan rich."
"Amen." Lucas smiled. "If we could only extract the greed gene."
"Sorry," Isaac scoffed, "but that's kind of funny." He leaned forward, "That's like saying, 'Let's undo Western Civilization.' Greed is our way of life. We've got to impress our parents, starting with Achilles and Aeneas - that's our pedigree. God forbid we learn to relax."
Lucas said nothing.
Isaac stared at Lucas and continued. "It's like saying, 'Let's stop doing research.' And then where would we be?"
"I'm not sure," Lucas mused. "Happy? Content?"
"Is that a word? Never." Isaac crossed his legs. "Contentment would kill us all. Comfort is only a break between wars."
Lucas squeezed his thigh upon hearing the quote. Even though he knew the source, he asked Isaac, "Is that a saying from somewhere?"
"It's a quote," Isaac said, raising his eyebrows. "Yes, from an old book, now almost unknown."
"Try me."
"A writer named Longstreet."
Lucas hesitated and looked away. He could not read Isaac or the context. It was a first in a long time where Lucas felt at a disadvantage, but he gambled.
"I know that saying, too."
Isaac seemed surprised. "You've read it?"
Lucas leaned forward on the table and whispered.
"Are you testing me, Isaac?"
"Excuse me?" Isaac straightened up.
"Who do you work for?"
"I don't understand."
"No?" Lucas gambled further. "KillJoy."
They stared at each other.
Lucas reached to a radio behind him, turned it on and increased the volume. A disc jockey spoke and introduced the next song. Lucas put his arms on his desk. "Isaac, I have to ask you something. Have you ever driven a Chevy Silverado?"
"Have you, Lucas," Isaac said, with his face solidifying, "ever popped into the IRC Artilect Terran Room?"
"I might have," Lucas said, laughing and then becoming sarcastic. "I might have. But before you get too cozy, let me quiz you with a story problem."
"Please do," Isaac said.
"Imagine," Lucas said, stretching his arms and acting disinterested, "that you live in a place where a street gang - better yet - a neo-Nazi organization is on the rise. As an upright citizen, of course, you oppose the skinheads out of principle, as do a gross majority of your neighbors, yet nothing is really being done to stop them. Sure, a few people have started a movement against these thugs who bully and intimidate everyone, but it's only a few wimpy intellectuals, who make good arguments, but can't quite articulate the problem to the masses. Are you with me so far, Isaac?"
"I am."
"Now one day, on a drive home from the grocery store, you witness an incident. An innocent father is walking down the sidewalk. A group of skinheads steps into the street and starts harassing him. They block the street, forcing you to park. Even though you can't believe your eyes, they start beating the man. This is unprovoked violence and ostensibly an outrage to decency. One of the skinheads swings a chain. One punches with brass knuckles. It's awful, vicious, unwarranted. It's an abomination to justice. While you sit there in your car, gripping the steering wheel, you see the man crying out, fighting back but unable to stop the barrage of blows. His shirt is torn. They drag him around on the blacktop. You can see his back covered in abrasions. Red lines circle his neck, leaving marks where the chain struck. His voice cries out, 'Help!' Now, Isaac, seeing all of this, what would you do?"
Isaac sighed and itched his nose. He looked out the window and then back at Lucas. "I'd finish it," Isaac said.
"You would break up the fight?" Lucas asked.
"No. What good would that do? You said that I dislike the skinheads, correct?"
"You abhor them," Lucas said, acting disgusted.
"Then I would finish off the innocent man by driving over him. Then I would go home and shave my head and tip off the police with a skinhead threat. At that point, the police would arrive and I would be shouting and making a scene when the cameras arrived."
"Good God!" Lucas said, holding his mouth open. "Why on earth would you do that, Isaac?"
"Because I am opposed to the skinhead movement."
"That seems counter-intuitive," Lucas said, now smiling at Isaac's response.
"It's quite simple, but I think you already know, Lucas. My side, the anti-skinhead side, needs something to rally around. There is no rally point like atrocity. Consider the alternative. Breaking up the fight and tattling to the press? The only thing that stopping the fight would accomplish is to prolong the skinheads' time-in-service. If the only thing on the news is a beating, then the gang could keep intimidating people for years. No one cares about a streetfight in a rough neighborhood. No, people need to see bright red in order to be outraged. They need a martyr for motivation, a Christ figure, a Saint Stephen, a Matthew Shepard to jump-start the movement. If your enemy is an extremist, then you become the enemy, sacrificing yourself. You do something that sickens even them and puts a spotlight on their camp. It takes a martyr and a villain to boil the political emotion and turn the tide toward righteousness."
Lucas could not hide his enjoyment of hearing the answer. "But the police..."
"They must catch me for the act to succeed. Of course, I would provide defiant drama. And once caught, I would claim to be the leader of the skinheads and they would deny me. I would make incendiary remarks to the media at every opportunity, calling on all skinheads to do more violence. Then my side, the masses crying for justice, would oust the skinheads in my city within a week. They would become a blip in time, ruined by their violence against decent people. If you wait for the skinheads to perform a truly brutal act, it might take forever, and then you sit in a perpetual state of fear over a small group, a ridiculous group that controls your streets. Living in fear of a few bullies, who rule with their ideology and reduce human beings to mice. That's what's unacceptable. There is no shame like the shame of living in fear on your own street. Letting thugs have control - that is the real atrocity. Unfortunately, the skinheads don't want any real power and therefore they are nothing to be concerned about. They've been Blocked since 1945. They are nothing to worry about. They can now be easily Blocked."
They sat looking at each other in silence.
"Yes, I've read the Manifesto," Lucas said. "Just a couple of times. Do you recognize this?" Quoting Longstreet verbatim, Lucas recited, "'In a spiritual sense, we are in a mess. Our minds have drawn us away from God's breast. If he made us in his Image, then perhaps it was his plan, for the son to grow up and look like the Man. Now we are studying the cosmic and the quantum, journeying toward the end of our labored quest. In these final days, with all the years smoking behind us, thes
e Anno Dominoes in fumes, we are nearing the dregs of all that's left; thank you very much, sirs Einstein, da Vinci, and Hume. Solving for all unknowns and satisfying your need to explain the magic to those of us who were still in awe, we have lost the essence of life, the uncertainty that makes the human alive and not a machine. Yet once you finalize the ending, once you stand on your unified holodeck, please do not share the 'meaning' of life with the rest of us before your transcending - just leave. Just go transhuman silently. Find your domain on whatever plane. Because for us, when all that's left is answers and reasons, when we have gotten our girl at last, I fear that we will soon become bored with how dry her mystique is, once we have made nude her past.'"
Isaac showed no expression.
"Yes," Lucas said, "I know Longstreet."
"Very nice," said Isaac. "That's impressive."
"You've done a lot of work for me, Isaac. You and your partner. What's her name? She's a she, right?"
"No comment."
"I assume she will remain anonymous."
"Most definitely."
"That's good." With his teeth firmly set, Lucas nodded. "Very wise of you. Yet it concerns me that you've come searching for me."
"But I haven't, Lucas. This meeting is merely serendipity."
"Serendipity," Lucas said, smiling, but then leaning in toward Isaac, he spoke with intense placidity. "Don't play me for a fool, Isaac. You broke the rule."
"I broke the Broker. By accident, Lucas, you can be sure," Isaac said, adding a short laugh, apparently not intimidated.
"It would be advisable," Lucas sneered, "to never speak of this."
"Oh?" Isaac said in disbelief. "This is too good. Too good. Are you really threatening me about consequences? Do you actually believe that I need instructions on silence, after all the jobs I've done?"
"That's very true," Lucas said, relenting now that Isaac had taken the bait. He was aware of a threat. "How true. Don't get me wrong: I'm not threatening you. I'm just making sure we read each other. Of course, any mishaps and, well, then we have some issues..."
"I read just fine, Lucas. But now that I'm here, I might as well ask you about something. My partner and I would like to know the big picture."
"I'm sure that you would," said Lucas, folding and unfolding his hands, "but it's not for you to know."
"No?" Isaac scratched his chin. "You don't think so? We've made you a lot of money. Some of the jobs were strictly money jobs."
"Venture capital. I had to give you operating expenses."
"I understand that, but not all of that money was earmarked for Blocker operations. The last few jobs were expressly against Talbot. I'm starting to wonder, now that I know who you are, if the objective is merely a corporate grudge. If you used my partner and I for anything other than the plan outlined by Ben Longstreet, we will be displeased. Then we will have a grudge. And this final job you have us working on. Restaurants?" Isaac held out his hands in disgust. "It's a lot of work. And we'll both be burned for it. Everyone will know who we are. We won't be safe."
"Unsafe?" Lucas scoffed. "You'll be rich and retired on an island of your selection." Lucas brushed off one of his sleeves with his hand. "Like you've ever been safe. That's funny. We've been on the run for almost twenty years. I can tell you this, Isaac..."
"Please do."
"Surely this will interest you. We are going to make the collapse of Enron look like babycakes."
"That's hard to imagine. Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling are two of the greatest Blockers of all time."
"Yes, but they didn't know it. So was Harry Truman. The difference is that we know it and they didn't."
"Lucas, just tell me one thing: is the goal to take down Talbot?"
"Partially. There is more to it. Believe me, the books are cooking, but there will be more to it than that."
"Well," Isaac said, holding up his hands, "that's the type of thing we'd like to know. It's nice to get a little feedback, that's all."
"I know what you mean." Lucas smiled. "It's a hard business we've chosen."
"I think we'd have an easier time crashing Pelius," Isaac offered. "I mean, this Ling operation is just the type of freak show the media would love. This thing could be presented in a terrifying manner, I am talking anarchy. One major spill here and we'd have a thousand TV tomcats lapping it up..."
"No!" Lucas snapped, hitting the desk with his knee. "Talbot goes down first. Then Pelius. One at a time." He smiled and regained his composure. "You're bright, Isaac. I admire your work and your ambition. But one at a time. You've done so much for the cause already. One at a time. Let's not rush like a bunch of burning savages. We'll bleed them quietly, one at a time, tire them out, watch them get dizzy...and lead them to the cliff."
"Of course, the proverbial cliff."
"Don't worry. While they fall, they will feel the knife in their back, but they won't know where it came from."
"Nice."