“I don’t think so,” Van Proyen said quietly from behind him. “The Chilean government is giving its citizens free access to Soulminder … in exchange for turning them into slaves.”
“At least,” Everly said into the silence that followed, “it isn’t any blackmail magic with the Mullner traces. I suppose that’s something.”
Sommer nodded, still staring at the numbers. Physicians, transfer techs, copper mine engineers, chip designers—all high-demand professionals, all working now at what was probably a tenth of their marketplace salaries. “So what do they hope to gain by extending the program to the less educated classes?” he asked.
Van Proyen and Alverez exchanged glances. “I don’t know,” Van Proyen answered for both of them. “Unless they want to maintain a pool of unskilled labor they can throw into the copper mines without having to pay union wages to.”
“The forced government service may only be temporary, too,” Everly pointed out.
“More like an indentured servitude than actual slavery,” Van Proyen agreed. “If that’s the case, they’ll need to keep replacing them.”
Everly rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There may be more,” he said, stepping over to the phone and punching a long series of buttons. “It’s a little soon, but let me see if my friends have come through yet,” he added, touching the speakerphone button and replacing the handset.
The phone was answered on the first ring. “Dr. Sands.”
“Doctor, this is Frank Everly,” Everly identified himself. “Have you had any response on that request I asked you to place?”
“Yes, indeed,” she said, and from her tone Sommer could visualize a sour look on her face. “Is Adrian with you?”
“Right here, Jessica,” Sommer called. “Along with Mr. Alverez and Station Chief Van Proyen. What’s this all about?”
“I’m not exactly sure myself,” she growled. “And I don’t especially like playing blind-man’s messenger, Frank. Anyway, here’s the list: South Africa, Bulgaria, Central African Republic, Nicaragua, and Russia. So what does it mean?”
Everly hissed gently between his teeth. “Those are the countries secretly helping the Chileans fund their Soulminder experiment.”
“Odd combination,” Van Proyen murmured.
“Not when you consider that all of them have a certain problem with dissident elements,” Everly said grimly.
“Why do I get the feeling,” Sands said, “that I’m missing some of the pieces here?”
“The missing piece,” Sommer told her, “is that we’ve uncovered indications that the government’s using Soulminder to put its citizens into effective slavery.”
“Those unfortunate enough to die at the right time, anyway,” Alverez muttered.
Abruptly, Everly seemed to stiffen. “Van Proyen—get on that terminal. You have access to news/media databases?”
“Of course,” Van Proyen said, stepping to the terminal as Alverez hastily vacated it. “Chilean and international both.”
“Chilean will do,” Everly told him. “Do a search for the names of well-publicized dissidents and correlate it with the Soulminder records. Find out how many of them have gone through Soulminder and then disappeared into some obscure government post up in the mountains somewhere.” He pursed his lips. “And check on how many of them went through Soulminder because of curare poisoning.”
Sommer stared at him, a cold knot gripping his stomach. “Are you suggesting … ?” His tongue froze, unable to say it.
“That the government’s own death squads are behind the curare murders?” Everly said it for him. “Why not? It’s certainly the simplest way for them to handpick the people they want.”
Sommer took a shaky breath. “Well, then … that’s that.”
“That’s what, Adrian?” Sands asked suspiciously.
“That’s it for Soulminder Santiago,” Sommer told her. “If Frank’s right about government death squads, we’re pulling out of here.”
“On what grounds?”
Sommer stared at the phone. “On what grounds? Are you serious, Jessica?”
Her sigh was a snake hiss from the speaker. “Adrian, I understand how you feel, and I sympathize. But the Chileans have an operations contract with us, a contract they’ve done nothing to break.”
“What about the misuse of our technology?” Sommer demanded.
“How do you prove that?” Sands countered. “Legally, I mean?”
“She’s right,” Van Proyen murmured. “The stuff we got from their database wouldn’t be admissible.”
Sommer threw him a glare. “They’re using us to defraud their own people,” he snarled. “They’re paying Soulminder employees intern wages. They’re murdering people, damn it!”
“All of which are internal affairs,” Sands said icily. “I’m sorry, but they are. We have no legitimate excuse for canceling our contract.”
“How about in the name of ordinary humanity?” Sommer shot back. “Or doesn’t that count in business dealings?”
“Adrian, look,” Sands said, her tone switching to a combination of cautious and soothing. “We are not in the business of crusading for truth and justice. We’re in the business of preventing unnecessary death. If we try to pull out of Chile without a legitimate reason, the government will take us to court, and even if we win the legal fees and damage to our reputation will kill us. You know that.”
Fleetingly, Diaz’s remark about economic imperialism flashed through Sommer’s mind. Other nations undoubtedly felt that way, too, and would likely be on Chile’s side, no matter what atrocities the government was committing. “I understand,” he said. “But we still can’t just sit by and let Soulminder be used this way.”
Beside Van Proyen the intercom beeped, and the other bent to speak quietly into it. “I’m open to suggestions,” Sands said. “If you can find a way to make them break or cancel the contract, we’ll be out of there so fast it’ll make your head spin. But otherwise, I think we’re stuck.”
Van Proyen looked up, an odd expression on his face. “Dr. Sommer, the front desk reports that General Diaz is on his way back.”
“Oh, is he?” Sommer said, starting for the door. “Good. I have some things to say to the man.”
“Take it easy, Adrian,” Sands called. “Don’t do anything hasty.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Jessica,” Sommer called as he yanked the door open.
“She’s right,” Everly’s voice said quietly from behind him as he strode down the hall. “Bullying him isn’t going to help.”
“We’ll see,” Sommer said.
Diaz was waiting in the deserted anteroom just outside the Core entrance when Sommer and Everly emerged. “Ah—Dr. Sommer—”
He broke off, his eyes hard on Sommer’s face as his own expression went tight and oddly sour. “I see,” he continued, in a changed tone of voice. “So you’ve figured it out. And I can see you don’t approve.”
“I doubt that comes as a surprise,” Sommer said evenly. “The game’s over, General. As of right now.”
Diaz’s eyebrows lifted politely. “Or else … ?”
“Or else I’ll pull Soulminder out of Chile. Forever.”
The eyebrows remained lifted. “Indeed. I take it you’re not overly familiar with the concept of specific performance?”
“I’m perfectly familiar with it, and I don’t give a damn. No one will force us to continue operations here once this gets out.”
Diaz smiled … and in that smile Sommer could see that his bluff had been a waste of time. “I beg to differ, Dr. Sommer,” the other said. “When you lose the case—and you will lose it, because we’ve violated nothing in our contract—when you lose, then the courts will have no choice but to order you to fulfill the specific performance clause.” Diaz’s eyes hardened. “You can waste Soulminder’s time and money, Doctor, an
d you can gain yourself a reputation for trying to bully small countries. But you can’t stop us.”
With an effort, Sommer unclenched his jaw muscles. “Why are you doing this?”
Diaz studied him, shrugged slightly. “It’s very simple, Doctor. People whose lives have been miraculously spared are grateful. Grateful enough to devote a year of their lives repaying such a favor.”
“At starvation wages, of course.”
“As I said: they’re grateful.”
“And the pseudo-terrorist gambit? Or did you get the inspiration for that one from South Africa and Bulgaria and the others?”
Diaz’s eyes flicked to Everly. “I see you’ve maintained your old CIA contacts,” he said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “As a matter of fact, no, that was our idea entirely. It occurred to us that perhaps that marvelous Soulminder gratitude might extend even to those who were critical of their leaders.”
“And has it?” Everly asked.
Another flick of a glance. “Not as much as we’d hoped,” Diaz acknowledged. “That part is still being evaluated. Of course, the indenture by itself gives us the opportunity to put them somewhere out of sight for a year.”
“In a place of your own choosing, of course,” Everly pointed out coldly. “High-risk, if at all possible.”
Deliberately, Diaz turned his attention back to Sommer. “What it ultimately boils down to, Dr. Sommer, is that everything we’re doing—certainly everything that you can prove we’re doing—is no more illegal or unethical than the things any other government does with and to its people.”
“The world community might not agree,” Sommer countered.
“And you plan to tell them?” Diaz asked blandly. “You’re at liberty to do so, but I’d advise against it. There are far worse slaveries in existence in a dozen other countries, slaveries that don’t draw so much as a spot on the evening news. And we, at least, make servants only from those who would otherwise be dead.” Abruptly, his gaze hardened. “Remember that, Doctor. What’s a year of service to a man brought back from the dead?”
And in that moment, Sommer realized he’d lost. Diaz was right—there were too many atrocities being committed in the world for the general public to take all that much notice of this one. If it hadn’t involved Soulminder, Sommer had to admit, he might not have noticed it himself.
But it did involve Soulminder.
“You don’t need to drag us into it,” he told the general, trying one last time. “People are effectively being brought back from the dead all the time. Most major medical procedures being done today qualify as life-saving.”
Diaz shook his head. “You miss the point. Medical procedures can be done by anyone, in any place, and the fees for the doctors’ work can be subsidized or forgiven by any of a thousand charitable organizations.
“But there is only one Soulminder. And in Chile, it’s under our control.” He favored Sommer with a brief, brittle smile. “The cradle is passé in today’s overcrowded world, Doctor. It is now the hand that rocks the casket that rules the world.”
For a long minute Sommer stared at him, searching for a way to refute that. But he couldn’t, and both of them knew it. “I’m going to stop you,” he said at last. “Soulminder is mine, not yours, and I’ll find a way to get it back from you.”
Diaz shrugged. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He straightened. “And now, if you’re finished here, I’ll drive you back to the hotel.”
“We’re not finished,” Sommer said through stiff lips. “And send your car home—we’ll find our own way back.”
Diaz sighed theatrically. “There’s no reason to be awkward, Doctor. One of my jobs at the moment is to act as your escort and liaison, and I intend to complete that job.”
“Good-night, General,” Sommer said. Turning his back on the other, he stalked back through the security door into the Core.
Where, out of Diaz’s sight, he paused, clenching his hands into painful fists as he swore the tension out of his chest.
Behind him, Everly slipped through the door to join him. “They’re not going to get away with it, Frank,” Sommer snarled at him. “They’re not.”
Everly’s eyes were steady on him. Eyes, Sommer saw, that had the same frustrated anger he himself was feeling, but under considerably better control. “Are you suggesting we interfere?” he asked quietly.
“You have a better suggestion?”
“Yes. Leave it to the Chileans themselves. People like Archbishop Manzano, who aren’t afraid to speak out against the government. They know what’s going on, or will soon.” Everly’s cheek twitched. “The only way there’s going to be any permanent change here is when the people decide it’s time for that change.”
“And how many slaves will they make before that happens?” Sommer demanded. “How many other countries will decide the experiment is a success and initiate servitude projects of their own?”
“And how many people will die when they revolt against the junta?” Everly added heavily. “It’s not easy to sit by, Doctor, when people are hurting. But the quick fixes never really fix anything. Especially quick fixes from outside.”
Sommer sighed. “I suppose you’re right. We can’t single-handedly make Chile over into the American dream. But Diaz was also right: there is only one Soulminder. And no matter who has control over it locally, the ultimate responsibility for its use and misuse is still ours.”
For a long moment he and Everly stared at each other. It was Everly who finally nodded. “You’ll want a surgical operation, then,” he said. “Something that’ll affect the junta’s use or control of Soulminder and nothing else.”
Sommer nodded grimly. “Surgical is exactly the right word, as a matter of fact. Come on—let’s get back inside. I need to find out from Van Proyen if what I’ve got in mind is feasible.”
The last notes of the song ended, and for a moment the echoes reverberated through the cathedral. Sommer took his seat again, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Archbishop Manzano would be speaking next.
“I trust you realize,” General Diaz murmured at his ear, “that the Archbishop almost certainly won’t be giving one of those fiery and impassioned speeches against the government which the international media so dearly loves. That type is usually reserved for when there are cameras focused on him.”
“I understand,” Sommer said between dry lips. “You’re welcome to leave if you think it’ll be boring.”
He looked over to find Diaz glaring suspiciously at him. “Just what is it you expect to learn here?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “That the Archbishop is unsatisfied with the progress of our reforms? You know that already.”
Sommer forced himself to meet the other’s gaze. “Perhaps,” he said, allowing his voice to carry just a bit, “I’ll find out what it was he wanted to tell me a few days ago. When he called me at Soulminder and your people substituted an electronic mimic for his voice.”
A few heads turned their way, and Diaz actually winced. “This is neither the time nor the place—”
“Shh!” Sommer cut him off. Archbishop Manzano had risen to speak.
Sommer’s grasp of Spanish was far too limited to allow him to follow what the Archbishop was saying. But from the very beginning it was clear that Diaz had been wrong on both counts. The Archbishop’s homily was as impassioned as any Sommer had seen on the evening news back in Washington, and its target was most definitely the government.
Beside him, Sommer felt Diaz squirm uncomfortably in his seat. “The shoe fit too closely, General?” he murmured, not bothering to turn.
He could almost feel the heat of the other’s glare. “Manzano’s views are biased and distorted,” the general all but spat. “All the truly thinking people in Chile know that.”
Sommer opened his mouth to disagree—
And, without warning, the Archbishop collapsed to th
e floor.
For a half dozen heartbeats the cathedral was frozen into utter silence. Then someone screamed, and the sound broke everyone from their stunned paralysis. The crowd surged to its feet, a dozen men and women rushing up to the Archbishop’s assistance as the rest milled about in fear and uncertainty.
An uncertainty that was rapidly giving way to anger.
“Come on, Doctor,” Diaz snapped, grabbing Sommer’s arm in an iron grip and all but bodily yanking him out into the aisle and toward the nearest exit. The two soldiers Diaz had brought along were already ahead of them, forcing a path through the crowd, and with his free hand Diaz pulled out a small radio and began speaking rapid-fire Spanish into it. What Sommer could see of his face was an ashen gray.
One final press of the crowd and they were outside, and in the distance Sommer could hear the sound of approaching sirens. “This way,” Diaz said, dragging Sommer toward the waiting limo.
“Wait a minute,” Sommer objected, giving a totally useless tug against the general’s grip. “We can’t just run off and leave the Archbishop.”
“The ambulance is on its way,” Diaz bit out. “The paramedics will handle it.”
“And if he dies?” Sommer demanded.
Diaz threw a razor-edged glare at Sommer. But behind the anger Sommer could see a steadily growing tension. “Then you had better hope,” he said, his voice quietly harsh, “that your Soulminder can restore him to life.”
The ambulance crew had called ahead, and Sommer and Diaz arrived at Soulminder to find the Number One transfer room primed and ready. The general glanced around, strode over to where the head physician was checking the equipment and his instrument tray. “Well, Doctor?” he demanded. His tone, to Sommer, sounded less like a question than a challenge.
From the expression on the doctor’s face it seemed he thought so, too. He gave Diaz a brief nod and then turned to continue his examination of the transfer equipment. “They seem ready to me,” Sommer murmured.
“They had better be,” Diaz said darkly. “Archbishop Manzano died before the paramedics even reached him.”