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and Conrad Helier was one of its chief architects. Maybe you think we made a lot of money out of the
world's misfortune, but by comparison with PicoCon, OmicronA, and the other cosmicorps we've
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always been paupers. What we did, we did for the common good. Conrad was a fine man-a great
man-and this crazy attempt to blacken his name is the product of a sick mind."
Damon reminded himself that Karol Kachellek had been born in 2071, only four years after Silas Arnett
but fifteen years after Conrad Helier. Karol was only thirty years short of the current world record for
longevity, but he still thought of Conrad Helier as the product of an earlier generation: a generation that
was now lost to history. Conrad Helier had been a more powerful father figure to Karol Kachellek than
he ever could have been to Damon.
"Were you actually present when my father died, Karol?" Damon asked quietly.
"Yes I was. I was by the side of his hospital bed, watching the monitors. His nanomachines were at full
stretch, trying to repair the internal damage. They were PicoCon's best, but they just weren't up to it.
He'd suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage and there were more complications than I could count. We
like to think of ourselves as potential emortals, but we're not even authentically immune to disease and
injury, let alone the effects of extreme violence. There are dozens of potential physiological accidents with
which the very best of today's internal technology is impotent to deal. Kids of your generation, who feel
free to take delight in savage violence because its effects are mostly reparable, are stupidly playing with
fire. The proximal cause of your father's death was a massive stroke-but if the lunatic who made that tape
intends to build a case on the seeming implausibility of that cause of death he's barking up the wrong tree.
If Conrad had wanted to fake his death, he'd have chosen something far more spectacular."
"How did you know he was dead?" Damon asked. He couldn't help comparing the lecture that Karol
had just given him with the one he'd given Lenny Garon; the depth of his estrangement from his foster
parents didn't seem quite so abyssal now.
"I told you," Kachellek replied, with ostentatious patience. "I was watching the monitors. I also watched
the doctors trying to resuscitate him. I wasn't actually present at the postmortem, but I can assure you
that there was no mistake."
Damon didn't press the point. If Conrad Helier had faked his death, Karol Kachellek would surely have
been in on the conspiracy, and he was hardly likely to relent in his insistence now.
"I'm going back to Los Angeles as soon as I can," Damon said quietly. "Maybe you ought to come with
me. The people who took Silas might have designs on you too. Interpol can offer you far better
protection on the mainland than they can in a desolate and underpoliced spot like this."
"I can't possibly go to Los Angeles," Karol said mulishly. "I've got important work to do here."
I have work to do too, Damon thought. I know what skills it took to put that tape together, technically
and in terms of its narrative implications. Through Madoc I have access to some first-rate outlaw
Webwalkers, including Old Lady Tithonia herself. I can get to the bottom of this, if I try hard enough, no
matter how insistent Karol and Eveline are in trying to keep me out of it. Maybe I can get to the bottom
of it sooner than Interpol. Maybe I can get to the bottom of it quickly enough to take a hand in the game
myself.
That bold and positive thought was, however, quickly followed by a host of shadowy doubts. Perhaps
he could get to the bottom of the matter faster than Interpol-but might that not be exactly what Operator
101 wanted? Why would the mysterious Operator bother to push a note under his door unless he was
intended to take a hand in the game? What, exactly, did the writer of that note want him to do? Might he
not be lending unwitting assistance to the persecutor of his foster parents, collaborating in the
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assassination of his biological father's reputation? Rebel though he certainly was, did he really want to
take his rebellion to the point of joining forces with his family's enemies-and if not, how could he be sure
that he wouldn't do so simply by uncovering the truth?
The night air was surprisingly cold, given that the day had been so hot. The wind was brisker than it had
been earlier, arid it had reversed its direction now that the sea was warmer than the land. The palm trees
planted in a neat row in the forecourt of the hotel were waving their fronds murmurously.
Once he was back in his room Damon tried to book a seat to Honolulu on the first flight out in the
morning, but it wasn't scheduled to leave until eleven and he didn't want to wait that long. He called Karol
to ask about the possibility of arranging a charter.
"No problem," Karol said, showing evident relief at the thought that he wouldn't have to face any more
of Damon's questions. "Name your time."
Damon was tempted to name first light, but he was too tired. His IT was supposed to have the capacity
to keep him going for seventy-two hours without sleep, if necessary, but when he'd tried to use the facility
in the past it had brought home to him the truth of the adage that the flesh was not the person. His mind
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