"The whole world is going to be hammering on our door," Philip Evans said gleefully. "The fees from licence production will rake in a couple of billion Eurofrancs each year alone, minimum; then there's our own profits. Think of how Event Horizon will grow with that kind of annual investment in its infrastructure."
"The Ministry of Defence will conduct their own inquiry, of course," said Morgan Walshaw. "See if any of their personnel were the source of the leak. And if they were, who the data was channelled to. We've told them that the blitz was aimed at the lightware crunchers we use in the giga-conductor project. There's no need for them to know about the NN core."
"Bloody right, boy. Something like this would bring the fruitcakes pouring out of the woodwork. Everyone and his grandmother would want to be loaded into an NN core."
"Somebody outside Event Horizon already knows, though, Grandpa."
"Don't remind me, girl. At least they've not made it public, for whatever reason. Probably afraid of losing whatever advantage they've got over the other kombinates. That'll be something for you to watch for, Juliet, if they do get me. Whichever bastard is the first to put the pressure on you for a low licensing-fee, they're the ones."
"Don't talk like that," she said, quietly insistent. "Nobody's going to get you."
"Are your security programmers trying to backtrack the hotrods behind the blitz?" Greg asked Walshaw.
"Yes, although I don't hold out much hope of success. The hacker community is a hard one to crack, our best chance is if a rumour escapes. Someone bragging, stoned or drunk."
"I'll see what I can do, I have a contact in that area."
"Who?" asked Philip.
"Tell you, you pay me for results, and that's what you'll get. But your money doesn't entitle you to know my sources. Without confidentiality I'd never be able to hang on to them."
"Oh, pardon me." Philip shovelled on the sarcasm, thick and dripping.
"Sounds like a reporter," Julia muttered tartly.
"I'm reassembling the team which built the NN core for you to interview," Walshaw told Greg. "We disbanded them after Mr. Evans was successfully translocated. Shouldn't take more than a day or two. They're all still employed by us."
"Right then, in the meantime I'll get started on the Ranasfari research team," Greg said briskly. "Oh, by the way, Julia?"
She looked up, half smiling, expectant.
"Who've you told that your Grandpa's still intact?"
"No one!" It emerged as an indignant squawk. Her mind flamed like a solar flare from high-energy outrage. No guilt, no subterfuge.
"How dare you!"
"Sorry, just checking that…"
"He's my grandpa!"
"Juliet, shush. Greg's doing exactly what I asked him here for."
She shut up, but spiked Greg with an evil glare.
He swivelled round to look enquiringly at Walshaw.
"I have never told anybody that Philip Evans's memories are intact, nor that Event Horizon has perfected a giga-conductor," the security chief said formally. True.
"Aren't you going to ask me, boy?"
Julia was suddenly very alert, giving Greg an intent stare, her mind coloured by a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation.
The hairs along the back of Greg's neck pricked up. He concentrated. Right at the edge of perception was a faint nebulous glow. Details were non-existent. Half-life? Half-death? Not a mind as he knew minds. And yet, and yet.
"No," he said eventually.
"Ah well, worth a try." The disembodied voice was utterly devoid of emotional content.
The study window showed green grass and blue sky. Reality. Greg focused on that. A flock of dark birds flew by. Infinitely reassuring in their normality. "We've got four lines of investigation," he summarised. "The hotrod pack which launched the blitz, the team which built the NN core, Ranasfari's giga-conductor research team, and a possible executive-level mole; that's a lot of ground for me to cover. I'm going to need money, not to mention help. There's a colleague I'd like to bring in, spread the load a little."
Walshaw produced a card from his pocket, embossed with the company's triangle and flying V emblem. "This will give you unlimited access to any Event Horizon facility, it also provides you a credit line direct to the company's central account. Please try not to spend more than half a million."
The little oblong of active plastic sat in Greg's palm, innocuous. Half a million. Eurofrancs or New Sterling? He didn't ask. These people were serious.
"Who's your colleague?" Julia asked, her face lifted with interest.
"Another psychic; a Mindstar veteran like myself."
"What's his speciality?"
"Her. Her speciality. She can see into the future."
She didn't call him a liar to his face, but his espersense told him it was a close-run thing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Julia closed the study door behind her, looking round in sudden desperation. She couldn't let Greg go without at least trying to explain. Damn Grandpa for blabbing like that. When he was alive in the flesh he would never have said anything to hurt her.
He was walking down the stairs, head just visible bobbing above the railing.
"Greg! Wait."
He turned round, paused. She ran along the landing, ankle-length skirt flapping round her legs.
Standing in front of him, her resolution wavered. What did he actually think of her? There'd never been any thank-you card for the van of gear she'd sent to his home. But would someone like Greg even think about thank-you cards? Damn that bloody Swiss snob school. It'd distorted her perspective on real life. As if anyone else ever bothered about Debrett's Etiquette in this day and age, let alone treated it as a bible.
He was watching her with quizzical respect. But was it bought respect? Oh hell. She searched his face for a hint of sympathy, any sign of that brilliant moment when they seemed to think as one. "They didn't alter me, you know." There, she'd gone and said it, betrayed her insecurities. Would he laugh?
"What didn't?" Greg asked.
She blinked, that wasn't the response she'd been expecting.
"The bioware nodes. People think they turn you into some kind of mental freak. But it's just like having an encyclopaedia on permanent call, that's all. I'm a total whiz at general knowledge questions." She flashed a bright entreating smile.
"Of all the people in the world, I'm the least likely to be prejudiced against you."
"Oh… yah," she knew her cheeks would be reddening. God, how stupid. She was making a complete fool of herself. Why couldn't conversation flow from her lips? Kats never had the slightest trouble talking to men, no matter what she said they'd smile and agree. "What's it like? I wanted a gland. But Grandpa said no."
"I'm glad he did," Greg said gently. "The price is far too high. Take my case. I have to steel myself against people, build a high wall to shut them out. Every mind is awash with fears and intolerance and fright, all the human failings. We school ourselves to hide them from showing in our voices and expressions, but to me it's an open book. I'd drown in it if I let my guard down. And there's the pain, too. Actual physical pain from the neurohormones, it can cripple me if I don't keep a firm control over the secretion levels."
Commit GregTime#Three. Nobody else was ever this honest with her about themselves. It must mean he felt something, even if it was only a variant of parental concern. "Why don't you have it taken out, if it's that bad?"
"I'm a psi-junkie, Julia. I couldn't give up the gland any more than you could give up eyes. Once it's in, you're hooked. But if I was living my life again I'd run a million miles rather than have a gland."