Geosynchron by David Louis Edelman Page A

destined to be Brone's, the lost eye and the lost arm, a life where he
broods over the futility of his feud with the other boy, of his relentless
and aimless ambition, a life where he retreats into the memecorp sector
under his mentor Serr Vigal's tutelage and becomes an expert on the
capillaries that run into the brain-

    Each future a single footstep away.
    He shifts and heads up the hill.
    Don't think.
    There is no explanation that can encompass it. One instant there
are two paths. The next there is a path taken and a path abandoned,
and as for that split-second of decision, no amount of science can penetrate it. The choice has not been made, then the choice has been made.
The world proceeds on its track through time leaving only inadequate
explication in its wake.
    Brone, huddled at the top of the hill, looks up in shock as Natch
and then the bear come streaking in his direction.
    Natch stumbles and falls on the white tile.
    Silence. Gloom. Darkness.
    He knows these are no ordinary bonds that keep him ensnared in
this chamber. Only the neural legerdemain of Margaret Surina's MultiReal program can effect such conditions. How and why he cannot say.
All he knows is that MultiReal is no longer responding to his com mands, and despite the fact that the Patels no longer have access to it,
the program seems to be at their disposal.

    He can go nowhere. He can do nothing.
    Once the world was laid out before Natch like glittering jewels in
a display case, there for the plucking. Now his universe has been
reduced to a circle about ten meters in diameter beyond which he
cannot cross. Outside that circle there is nothing. Friends who have
scorned him, a guardian who has abandoned him, enemies who have
entrapped him, a government and a public that despise him. The programs he has created will dissipate into the endless currents of the Data
Sea until his name only exists in the deep strata of the changelogs. The
history of his accomplishments will wither. His name will be forgotten.
    But there is no outside agency he can blame. The path to this
impotent circle is one he has charted himself, second by second, day by
day, decision by decision.
    No way forward.
    No way forward.

    5
    No way forward.
    "You wanted a day or two to think things over. Fucking fabulous."
Feet shuffle against the floor, a foot idly kicks at the wall. "If we'd got
in touch with Magan Kai Lee when we said we would, everything
would be fine right now. We'd be up to our asses in Vault credits.
Well! Look what's happened now." Another kick.
    "So ... two squadrons? Are you sure about that, Frederic?"
    "Am I sure? Of course not. This is the Defense and Wellness
Council. They don't go broadcasting their plans all over the Data Sea.
But why else would they be doing reconnaissance missions way the
fuck out here?"
    The sound of nervous foot tapping. "I suppose the real question is
whether those squadrons belong to Borda, or whether they belong to Lee."
    "Guess again."
    Silence.
    "One of each?"
    More silence.
    "Shit. What do we do?"
    "You know exactly what I want to do, 'Trucio."
    An exasperated sigh. "You're not going to bring that up again, are
you?"
    "Why not? There's still time to pull this thing out of the fire. If we
can hand MultiReal-D over to Magan before Borda's thugs get here, we
can still fulfill the contract."
    "So then let's do that."
    "Don't be naive, 'Trucio. Nobody's going to give us shit unless we
can prove it works. The contract specifically says working prototype,
remember?"

    "Of course it works. Natch is still sitting in the chair, isn't he?"
    "I'm talking about in the real world. Solid weapons. Real steel."
    "It worked in Old Chicago. That was real."
    "How do you know? Come on, 'Trucio, we have no idea what happened out there in Old Chicago. What the fuck was he doing wandering those streets in the first place? Who was it tried to murder him?
Some diss throwing stones? Bullshit."
    Pacing. Tense, thoughtful silence.