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The generals report to everyone, answer to no one, serve but a single master. The generals serve the concept of Lenie Clarke, perhapsbut no, that doesn't fit either. Even that lacks the precise delineation of most computer graphicsthe line seems fuzzy, even broken in places. Resolution and brightness increase: the orange line swells and sparkles and writhes It is not an overlay.They have no concept, of Lenie Clarke or anything else. 56h14m23s the timer says, incrementing before his eyes.

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It has been copied and distributed a billion times; each copy travels with a retinue of attachs and assistants and bodyguards. Words are barely adequate to describe Maelstrom in any event. The only tactical enhancements are some sort of timer running off to one side and a bright overlay a few hundred kilometers east of the Pacific, a sparkling orange line paralleling the coast from So Cal up to BC.

Each port is also associated with a range of parameters, labels like temperature, precipitation, and humidity; very few of these are defined at the ports themselves, but they can be interpolated by accessing linked environmental databases. Me, and Ken, and everyone else walking around with tubes in their chests after your great experiment went south. Martin watches it spread with a kind of dumb relief, until the swollen black torus of a heavy lifter passes between earth and sky.

Put simply, the task is to promote occurrences of Lenie Clarke at all ports meeting certain environmental conditions. Are you just signing off on us personally, or are you presuming to speak for the whole world? To the satcam it looks like the shadow of Mercury crossing a sunspot, but even at this range there's no mistaking the bright trail it spreads behind it.

She ate a tasteless soy-krill concoction from a convenient vending machine. The puppet masterswhoever or whatever had stolen her name and pasted it onto so many different facesseemed to have given up on matchmaking across the spectrum. She was actually kind of surprised that they hadn't done so already. The fact that she was still alive proved that they weren't still within her. You have also recently lost someone close to you; bereavement can be a factor in triggering visual-release hall" "What do you mean, stored images? " Shit-for-brains machine, why am I even arguing with it? Completely different." "Long-term memories are frequently unreliable. "Just fix it." "This booth is not equipped for microsurgery. On the display, that cloud of violet stars sparkled enigmatically along the floor of her brain. "You're saying someone cut into my brain seven thousand four hundred and eighty-three times? The lesions are consistent with deep-focus microwave bursts." "Why didn't you tell me before? This is an approximation based upon subsequent scarring and capillary growth." "Could such an operation take place without the patient's knowledge? "I don't know how to answer that question." "Could it take place without anesthetic? Her mind, luminous and transparent, rotated before her. They almost looked like some kind of free-form sculpture. The way Aviva Lu saw it, whoever died last was the winner. Unless you're planning on spending the rest of your life in this cubicle? "Besides, I have something to tell you." * * * He couldn't bring himself to enter the Pile, after all; too many ambient ears, and discretion prevailed even without Guilt Trip. Intermittent beds of kudzu lined their path; the filamentous blades of windmills turned slowly overhead on the tops of buildings, along pedestrian concourses, anywhere that a bit of fetch could insinuate itself into the local architecture. And if you were in my shoes, do you think you'd be quite so optimistic? "You always knew my politics were a bit radical." * * * "Fuck, Alice." Desjardins put his head in his hands. You know what I mean." She stepped in front of him, blocking his way. You've got ten times the brains of those felchers, and you let them turn you into a puppet." "I'm not a puppet." "Not any more, anyway." "I never was." "Sure you were. "Killjoy, you're up at bat and the whole world's hanging in the balance. You can't afford to be chained to any corpse agenda. "I bet you don't even know what they took away, do you? Sure, you read their cheery little leaflets about serving the greater good and you learned enough to pass the tests, but it was all just hoops you had to jump through to get into the next tax bracket, right? I mean, don't get me wrongyou're a flaming genius with sims and nonparametric stats, but when it comes to the real world you wouldn't know a come-on if someone got down on their knees and unzipped your fly for you. "You know about the Minsky receptors in your frontal lobes, and how all those nasty little guilt transmitters bind to them, and how you perceive that as conscience. "Because there's no room for you up there if we win." "You won't win," Rowan said. Laurie also endured my endless stream-of-consciousness rambling as I tried to fit all the pieces together; hopefully her sacrifice has spared the rest of you from a similar fate.

They'd settled on a single type by now: the kicked dogs, desperate for purpose, evidently blind to the fact that their own neediness far outweighed hers. Maybe they have Maybe they can break in on me any time, but they took the hint when I smashed the watch. The visor was her only connection to Maelstrom, now that her watch was gone. "Those parts of the brain are involved in vision," the booth told her. The humming of the machine resonated deep in her skull. She'd endured twenty-two seconds when the visor withdrew into its sheath. Gas exchange isn't limited to the lungs, she remembered. I can give you Ondansetron to suppress the symptoms. " "You asked me to ignore subjects irrelevant to your hallucinations." "And thesethese lesions don't have anything to do with that? " "Most of the lesions are not located within the visual pathways. " "Yes." "Could it take place while the patient was asleep? She was dimly aware of muffled sounds, distant and angry, rising from somewhere outside. Purple stars erupted from the medulla like a freeze-framed fountain, bright perfect droplets thrown high into the cortex and frozen at apogee. It didn't matter what you actually did with your life. " "The next five days, maybe" He was so very tired. Trust me on this." Desjardins managed a feeble laugh. For that matter, even walking under the open sky made him a bit queasy. Alice Jovellanos took all of it in without a word: Lubin, Rowan, Guilt Trip. " "I'd guarantee it." "Fuck, Alice, this is serious." "I know, Killjoy. Just like Lubin." "I'm nothing like" "They turned you into one big reflex arc, my man. They made Guilt Trip by tweaking a bunch of behavior-modification genes snipped from parasites; the guiltier you feel, the more Trip gets pumped into your brain. My agent, Don Maass, made a vital criticism of opening chapters which resulted in a whole new plot thread (and hopefully, less "straining for effect").

After a while, as always, the images shrank away and let the real world back in. Since when did personality become a "treatable disorder"? Aviva Lu knew more about the story so far than all of those guys had. "We gave you back your life, man," Jovellanos said softly. "That's the real beauty of it, Killjoy; both your natural transmitters and the Trip itself are still being produced normally, so a test that keys on either of 'em comes up clean. However you rationalize it, you won't be able to blame some stupid longchain molecule. "So use it, and think about all the things you've done and why, and ask yourself if you're really so morally rudderless that you couldn't have made all those tough decisions without enslaving yourself to a bunch of despots. You never needed their ball and chain to be a decent human being. He stood four hundred meters above Lake Michigan's southern reaches. Did you even stop to think about the people who helped you? Given a world in which Quebec has become the predominant economic power, I figured various Quebecisms would have worked their way into casual N'Am conversationhence all those italicised expletives that left most of you scratching your heads.

By now she was almost used to it; she no longer shouted at apparitions, or reached out to touch things that didn't exist. She knew that to all the world around her, nothing had happened; a visored woman in a food court had paused at her meal for a few moments. The only person who heard the blood pounding in her ears was Lenie Clarke. A row of medbooths across the concourse advertised reasonable rates and path scans updated weekly! " "Yeah." She took the NMR helmet from its hook and fitted it over her head. Picture-in-picture, I can still see around the edges, but" The booth waited. "Your dopamine receptor sites are abnormally prolific. Some bloody machine counting up my masochism molecules Beep. On the display, a dusting of violet stars had been sprinkled across the floor of the cerebral hemispheres. It was all just one big, sprawling interactive storybook. If you came in halfway through, you could always pick up the stuff you'd missedthat's what tutorials and encyclopedias and Maelstrom itself were for. The real winners, Vive figured, were the ones who saw how the story finally ended. Even a test looking for the complexed form will pass muster, since the baseline complex is still floating aroundit just can't find any free receptor sites to latch onto. An unbroken rim of industrial lakefront stretched around the horizon from Whiting to Evanston. Do you know how many innocent fools got caught up in the myth, were falling over themselves to take a bullet for the great Lenie Clarke, and you know, some of them got their wish. We did everything we could do to stop you, and somehow it still wasn't enough, and now we've got our families to think of. For a crash course in how to be foul-mouthed in Canada's Other Official Language, I thank Joel Champetier, Glenn Grant, Daniel Sernine, and Jean-Louis Trudel, even though they couldn't come up with an alliterative translation for "blood-spewing semen-sucking sickle-celled savior".Sometimes Vive wondered if her parents even really knew what a species was any more. She'd kick-started the Big One out of sheer impatience, tired of waiting for some long-overdue apocalypse that had always threatened and never delivered. " one of them asked, blinking rapidly over fake eyecaps. "And this" Something indefinable passed through the room. "I didn't think she was real." Lenie Clarke tilted her chin in a half-nod. The burnings and the Big One and you going around raping corpses" "Probably not." "But" "I don't really have time to compare notes," Clarke said. The first friendly looked around at the assembled huddlers. The last thing we need is a whole procession banging around in the crawlspace, right? You've got to have faith, there's a purpose behind all of this. She didn't know how long she sat there, in her own personal void. Some other readout flashed off at the edge of vision, a rhythmic little scratch on her retina. "You seem awfully certain, considering that whole mercury thing," Burton remarked. " "I want the dolphins set down right about there," Lubin said, pinpointing a spot on the tabletop. They'd assured him that he couldn't be held responsible. Of course, you don't inject Rwanda­ into a man's cells without expecting some increase in the usual alpha-male head-butting responses, but dispassion was a trait even more valued than ruthlessness; both of them had been tweaked for enhanced self-control even more than for the euphemistic necessary steps. Conscience isirrational, when you get right down to it." "You are so full of shit." "Sociopathy doesn't make you a killer. Lenie Clarke sat with her back propped against the far wall; Lubin's silhouette swallowed her whole. "I know." He leaned his back against the wall, slid down at her side. "There's only one place that was ever home." Three thousand meters below the surface of the Pacific. "She came up with some interesting shipping news, and it raises the question: what's home? They could have stayed, and watched it happen to everyone else, and synthesized their food from raw elements once the biosphere itself was lost. All of Atlantis knew that, even if nobody talked about it. We should talk about that some time." Rowan kept her voice level. I have, however, tried to make this bug reasonably plausible, given the dramatic constraint of a global apocalypse in a crunchy coating.In fact, that was the whole problem: rather than clean the shit out of the world, people just turned themselves into coprovores. Better to tear everything down and just start over. That's why Aviva Lu was here now, waiting for Lenie Clarke to show up. * * * Actually, Aviva Lu wasn't exactly sure what Lenie Clarke was. She'd single-handedly broken open the Strip, led a refugee revolt whose existence N'Am Pac still wouldn't admit to. It was jam-packed with rifter wannabes and trapped pedestrians desperate to wait out the party. Fifteen minutes, and you can make all the noise you want. "I'm supposed to meet up with Jen and Linse over by the fountain." "Suit yourself. "I can manage." * * * Aviva Lu was a veteran of civil unrest. Please, just" The crunch of plastic, ground underfoot. The effort required to focus on it seemed almost superhuman. That was the thing about heavy metals; they affected the brain. Lubin shrugged off the challenger and concentrated on the challenge. Still not enough to catch Clarke until she made her move. It just means you aren't restrained from being one if the situation calls for it. I'm right, you know there's at least a chance I'm right." "What I know is that the most I can hope for is to be out of a job right up until the world ends. I could kill her in an instant, he thought, and marveled at how absurd the thought seemed. A beautiful dark universe filled with monsters and wonders that didn't even exist any more. That option hadn't received a whole lot of discussion, though. They'd seen the mobs from their penthouses, seen civil unrest graphed against time on exponential curves. As a result, ehemoth is like one of those "composite serial killers" you read about in True-Crime booksbits and pieces of various real-world bugs, thrown together with lots of dramatic license.Not that it ever helped: the vision persisted behind her lids, showing herthis timethe upper half of her mother's face, brow furrowed in concern. " "The activation of long-term memories," said the booth. But the thing was, all those people were dead already. "Look, I don't blame you for being in denial about" He shrugged it off. You think instinct and reflex can handle the decisions I have to make, every hour I'm on the job? The hounds will find Trip in your blood like they always have. Baseline Toxoplasma turns rodents into cat-lovers as a way of jumping between hosts. A straight line between those points cut through Lake Michigan. The Great Lakes weren't quite so great these days, not since the water shortages of the twenty-first century had reduced their volume by twenty-five percent. " "Just a messenger," Clarke said, "telling you not to worry. " "And don't ever try to come back." Rowan shook her head. You could've saved yourself the trip." "Your plans'll change the moment the situation does," the rifter said. We'd've stood a better chance if you c&c types hadn't got in and subverted the algorithm; you may have killed us already. They say Anemone's a hellaciously powerful computing system, if we could only tame it." "Right. "And how do you expect a gang of electronic wildlife to get your biosphere back? (It's been twenty years since I took a course from the man and he's still forcing me to think for myself.) He also donated a copy of Lodish et al.'s "Molecular Cell Biology" to the cause, a text which easily outweighs the yellow pages for the GTA.Mom's nose and mouth were covered by one of those filtermasks you wore whenever you visited the hospital, so the superbugs wouldn't get you. Please be patient." The booth etched a line along the bottom of the display: VAC Area 19, it said. Fame hadn't kept Olivia M'Benga's faceplate from shattering. You think weighting a thousand variables on the fly doesn't require a certain degree of autonomy? That's the whole point." "And just maybe I'd've said no anyway, did you ever stop to think of that? "Every time I see a Lertzman or a Rowan." "I don't care about Lertzman or fucking Rowan! " "I did it for you, Achilles." He glanced up, startled. That's the beauty of it, Spartacus doesn't touch the Trip. I bet a hundred Quebucks you weren't in such pathetic servitude to Mandelbrot until you got your shots, am I right? It's got the same active sites, so it binds to the Trip, but the overall conformation is slightly different so it doesn't actually do anything except clog up the Minsky receptors. (Lubin supposed it was a small price to pay to avoid the water wars breaking out everywhere else on the planet.) Still. You've already got a full orchestra down here." She shrugged. If it hadn't been for you, I'd be just another drone in nine billion. Isaac "Buckaroo Banzai" Szpindelan MD, neurologist, sf-writer, screenwriter, and (no shit) electrical engineerhelped me out with the chemistry of guilt, and suggested plausible field strengths for rifter implants.That whole generation was too busy shooting itself up with crocodilian and plant organelles to worry about getting their facts right. "They were so busy keeping an eye on each other they never stopped to think what kind of take-home rules a net might develop on its own, after spending a whole lifetime protecting small simple things from big complicated things. But those leave footprintsop signatures on the hardware, huge memory demands. She'd stay in industrialized areas, indoors or under cover, her signal swamped and her passage unnoticed. If I fuck up * * * If he fucked up again, actually. All those blood tests he'd ordered, all those path scans, and he'd never thought to test for heavy metals. How would they ever get into play, now that their receptor sites had been jammed? Just because I wanted to." "We psychos are notorious for bad impulse control," Clarke said, approaching him. Almost experimentally, he crossed into the living room and depolarized the tanglethreads. For good measure, he pulled a lightstick from his pocket and struck it; light flared in the gutted room. And if groundside quarantine tech had been up to the job, they wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place; that option must have been on the table only to accommodate a bureaucratic obsession with completist detail. There had been a fourth optionthey could have stayed behind and faced ehemoth with the rest of the world. "I want to talk to my mother," the rifter said softly. ehemoth When I started writing this book, strange claims had just started surfacing in the scientific literature: a new kind of extremely primitive microbe freshly discovered, something inconceivably small. It's more sophisticated in some ways, more primitive in others.

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