"Indeed? I had heard that. Do you have confirmation?"
I smirked at that. "All the confirmation I need," I told him.
"The Ali'i… is he safe?"
"As safe as can be expected, I guess."
"And you have confirmation of that?" Barnard pressed.
"All the confirmation I need," I repeated. "He's sitting right here, swilling Scotch."
Up went the corporator's eyebrows. "Honto? Let me speak to him."
You two should have been talking to each other all along is what I didn't say. I just beckoned Ho over and gave him my chair. I stepped aside, out of the telecom's axis of view, but made sure I stayed close enough to hear what was going down.
"Aloha, Gordon," I heard Barnard say. "Pe-hia 'oe?"
"Aloha. Pona'ana'a," the ex-Ali'i responded quietly. "Et Gilles? Comment ca va?"
"Tres bien, a tout prendre," the corporator replied. "He's Commercial Services manager at Yamatetsu-U.K., making his own way up the ladder." Barnard paused. "He still speaks of his time at university with you."
Gordon Ho smiled-a little sadly, I thought. "There's something very appealing about a time when the biggest thing you have to worry about is a term paper or whether you can smuggle your girlfriend into your residence."
While those two droned on with more of that "old-home week" drek, I went back to the couch and sat down again to concentrate on my Scotch. I could still hear snippets of the conversation, but couldn't make much sense of it with Ho and Barnard apparently flipping between English, French, Hawai'ian, and Japanese as the mood took them. After a while I stopped even trying.
After maybe five minutes of multilingual chitchat. Ho turned away from the screen. "Dirk," he said, beckoning me over. I clambered to my feet and joined the ex-Ali'i before the telecom, this time bringing my drink with me in case I needed instant fortification.
"Uh-huh?" I said to Barnard.
"When we spoke before," the corporator said, "you implied that someone by the name of Harlech might have revealed your corporate connection and your involvement with Gordon."
"Quentin Harlech," I said.
Barnard frowned. "I have yet to find any information on an individual by that name. Do you know anything about him that might help?"
I thought for a moment, then shook my head. "Nothing," I replied. "I just saw him the once."
Barnard nodded. "Another possible angle," he mused after a moment's thought. "Are you aware of anyone who might have background on him?"
Well, now that he put it mat way… "Maybe you can get some scan from Chantal Monot," I suggested. Barnard shook his head, so I elaborated. "Telestrian Industries Corporation? Prez of South Pacific Operations?"
I saw the recognition dawn in his eyes. "Monot, yes." Then his frown deepened. "And how do you happen to know Mademoiselle Monot, Mr. Montgomery?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.
Okay, well, I guess maybe I should have told him before now. Quickly, I recapped my experience with TTC, starting with the narcodart in the chest and finishing with my "transfer" to New Foster Tower. "Monot recognized Harlech's name," I concluded. "At least, I think she did."
Barnard sighed. "Telestrian Industries Corporation," he said quietly, a complex expression on his face.
"Why don't you ask Monot about this Harlech slot if you think it's so important?" I suggested.
The corporator chuckled softly at that. "I rather doubt she'd tell me."
"Why?" I wanted to know. "You corps are thick as thieves, aren't you?"
Barnard looked at me as he would a child too stupid to get with the toilet-training program. "Megacorporations rarely speak with one voice, Mr. Montgomery," he said coldly, unconsciously echoing Chantal Monot's comment on another topic. "We cooperate in some areas, it's true. But don't forget that, primarily, we're in competition. Do you really think that one megacorporation would fail to keep confidential something that could prove to be a competitive advantage?"
I nodded, a little chastened. Point-taken.
"It is interesting, though," Barnard continued thoughtfully after a moment. 'Telestrian's representatives to the Corporate Court was initially in accord with one of the major factions that have formed around the Hawai'i issue. Now Telestrian Industries Corporation has withdrawn all involvement… on either side of the issue. I wonder if there's some connection?"
"Hold the phone," I began.
But Gordon Ho got there before me. '"Factions'?" he asked sharply. "What 'issue'?"
Barnard smiled mirthlessly. "What issue do you think, Gordon? How best to deal with the Hawai'ian provocation, of course. There've been attacks on megacorporate assets- personnel and materiel. An outrage like that can't go unanswered, you understand that. The Corporate Court is more or less split on what the response should be."
"What are the choices?" the ex-Ali'i asked.
"Again, what do you mink? Diplomatic pressure on one hand-sanctions, embargoes, and such. More… direct… action on the other."
"Military?"
"The supporters of direct action are split on that question," Barnard allowed. "Some believe this nonsense with ALOHA has gone on long enough and should be settled once and for all. Others prefer 'executive action' against members of the government."
I glanced over at Ho and saw he'd gone pale. No wonder.
I'd heard the euphemism "executive action" before. It generally meant "assassination."
"And where do you stand, Jacques?" the young ex-king asked softly. "Where does Yamatetsu stand?"
"In the middle ground, where else?" Barnard said with a shrug. "A very lonely middle ground, as it turns out. A 'wait-and-see' attitude isn't particularly popular with the Court at the moment."
"What about Donald?" Ho asked suddenly.
"Your great-uncle is finding it especially uncomfortable," Barnard told him. "Zurich-Orbital doesn't give him much chance to avoid contact with the others."
I blinked at that. So Gordon had some relative up on Zurich-Orbital? I filed that little gem away for future consideration… assuming there was a future.
"How is the Court leaning?" Ho queried.
Barnard's smile faded. "The direct action proponents seem to be ascendant," he said quietly. "There will be a… a message sent. A demonstration." On the screen the corporator checked his watch. "At midnight, local Honolulu time. If that fails to bring the government to heel…" He shrugged eloquently.
"A demonstration," I echoed. The word had a frightening sound to it, a bitter taste. "What kind of demonstration, Barnard?"
"Thor," he said quietly.
22
We stood shoulder to shoulder, the ex-Ali'i and I, our noses millimeters from room 1905's picture window. None of the respectable media had said word one about the Corporate Court's scheduled demonstration, but the word had certainly gotten out nonetheless. Part of that, was due to the fact that a media lockdown simply isn't possible when parties with a vested interest in getting the word out-in this case, the corporations-can beam their message directly down from the high ground of low Earth orbit. Ground-based pirate stations had done their part, too, gleefully reporting on the Hawaiian government's attempts to muzzle the commercial media outlets. Back in the Dark Ages-the nineteen-eighties and nineteen-nineties, for example-it might have been possible to keep this kind of genie in the bottle. These days? No fragging way, hoa, as the government was finding out.
I knew the word had gotten out thanks to reports that filtered in to the Ali'i from his few trusted assets still on the streets. Even without that source of data, though, I'd have guessed that people were getting the message. Normally Kalakaua Avenue, stretches of which I could see from my window, was two ribbons of slowly moving car lights until two or three in the morning. Tonight, at a couple of minutes to midnight, Waikiki's main drag was next to deserted. Idly, I wondered where everyone was. Holing up, terrified that the sky was going to fall on their heads? Or doing what Gordon Ho and I were doing, finding a good vantage point from which to watch the show.