Rainbows End

When Belief Circles Collide

Alfred Vaz watched the departing crazies. Beside him, Rabbit swayed in time to their battle cries. For once, the critter seemed impressed by someone other than itself. Or maybe not. "Heh," it said, giving a little carroty salute. "I can't wait to see their faces when they discover who's fighting for the other side."

Vaz looked down at the furry ears. "Turn off your public presence." The goal was to not attract attention.

"You worry too much." But the rabbit took a last chomp and tossed the carrot green aside. This one vanished before it hit the ground. "Okay, Doc. I'm for your eyes only. What next?"

Vaz grunted and started off toward the south. In fact, he was more irritated than worried by Rabbit's impudence. If things went properly tonight, the Americans would not connect the operation with Rabbit, much less with the Indo-European Alliance. If the Americans started seriously looking, they would quickly pick out Alfred's role here — whether or not he and Rabbit were actually seen together. Keiko's people had worked out an elaborate decision program — a "contingency tree" — that described just what could still be denied and what could still be achieved in the face of various glitches. Twenty years ago, Alfred would have laughed at such automated planning, but no more. His secret analyst teams had developed his own contingency tree. It grew out from Keiko's, reaching all the way to ultimate worst cases — such as the unmasking of his YGBM project.

Alfred emerged from the densest part of the eucalyptus grove. All around him, his tiny bots unobtrusively kept pace. Every one was in violation of local law, containing not a single chip in thrall to the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. While Vaz continued to play Bollywood exec through the public net, these devices provided him with his own network and countermeasures. There were places in the contingency tree where they could be very useful.

Meantime, a tiny stealthed aerobot followed along above, accepting his local network's traffic and flickering it at a thousand points in the westward sky. The energy in any pulse would be undetectable except to someone very alert and very close by, but the ensemble — correlated with the right time synch — should be visible to Keiko's antenna array out over the Pacific. It was their very own military net. That was the theory. In fact, Alfred had been out of touch for nearly three minutes. He knew Alice Gong was on watch tonight, probably as an analyst. He had launched his attack on her just before he lost milnet access. Very soon her surveillance duties would bring her to a lab file containing an innocuous moire pattern — only the pattern would not be innocuous for her. Has that happened yet ? Maybe he should snoop it out via the public net.

"Come on, Doc, come ona come on." Rabbit danced a little jig. Its voice had a mocking lilt that Alfred had first heard some eighty years earlier. "Is there some kinda problem?"

"No problem," said Vaz. "Are your agents in place?"

"Never fear. All but Rivera and Gu are at the start point. I'm guiding them around the riot even as we speak. But if you want to snoop the fiber, you better hurry up."

The ground was firm and level. There was a surfaced path. Now their speed was limited by how fast his mechs could make their stealthy way.

There were crowds here, but almost everyone was walking toward the library. He caught a glimpse of Rivera and Gu. And, once, he saw two children on bicycles. Where did that fit with Hacekeans and Scoochis? He would have put the question to his analyst pool — if only he had his milnet link.

The Mysterious Stranger hustled Robert off the surface path, down past where administration bungalows used to be. Robert kept a virtual light on the rough ground. The view was up-to-the-second and clearer than a flashlight might have given him, but keeping up with the Stranger didn't leave time to ghost around the library. "Those are real lights back there," he said. "Even more than before. What — ?"

"The Hacek people got a little too enthusiastic. They've destroyed some camera infrastructure. They need real light." He was chuckling. "Don't worry. No one will be hurt, and it's a diversion that will be… useful."

The Stranger slowed. Robert looked away from the ground for a moment. Over the hill, he got a look — from a point high in the trees — at the people on the ground. In true view, they were students shouting at each other, a few involved in real scuffles. But shift a little away from strict reality, and the imagery became what one group or another wanted you to see. There were Hacek Knights and Librarians tussling with fluffy, colorful critters that might have been big-eyed mammals or — "Ah! So it's the Scooch-a-mout fans going after the Hacekeans?"

"Mostly." The Stranger seemed to be listening for something. Somebody was coming down the hill on an intercept course. A Librarian Militant. Carlos Rivera. The chubby librarian nodded at Stranger-Sharif and Robert. "What a mess."

"But a useful mess," said the Stranger.

"Yeah." Carlos dropped his costume: the Librarian's hat reverted to an everyday baseball cap worn backwards, and now his plate armor was just Bermuda shorts and the Rivera standard T-shirt. "I just hope this fighting doesn't become a tradition."

The Mysterious Stranger waved them on through the brush. "A tradition?" he said. "But that would be a plus. Like panty raids and putting automobiles on top of administration buildings. The sort of thing that made American universities great."

Rivera puffed along. "Maybe. We've had a lot more business since the library went virtual, but — "

Robert was still watching the mobs beyond the hill. "I thought the whole point of belief circles was that they can coexist in the same space."

"In principle," said Rivera. They took a big detour around a space that was dark even in the virtual. Sharif's image seemed to flicker and jerk. So few people walked through this area that the random network was sparse and your wearable had to make way too many guesses.

"But," Rivera continued, "the library is a tight fit. In principle we can morph to support the multiple beliefs, like on Pyramid Hill. In fact, our environment is often too close for conflicting haptics. So the administration tried to satisfy the Scoochis by giving them some space underground." Rivera paused, and Robert almost ran him over. "You knew that wouldn't work, didn't you?" Carlos was looking at Stranger-Sharif, or what Robert saw as Stranger-Sharif.

The Stranger turned and smiled. "I gave you the best advice I had, dear boy."

"Yeah." Rivera sounded close to surly. He looked over his shoulder at Robert. "What does he have on you, Professor?"

"I — — "

"Ah, ah, ah!" interrupted the Stranger. "I think we'd all be more comfortable without such revelations."

"Okay," said both victims.

"In any case," said the Stranger, "I'm rather proud of how I've morphed the Librareome controversy into this conflict between belief circles. This riot will distract people who would otherwise be paying attention to other things — such as what we're doing."

They were well south of the library now, out of the trees and coming down a steep slope. Just ahead was Gilman Drive. Carlos walked heedlessly into the street. The cars slowed or speeded up or changed lanes so there was always a wide bubble of empty space around him. Robert hesitated, looking for a crosswalk. Damn . Finally he scooted after Carlos, out into traffic.

Miri stopped ON the north side of Gilman Drive.

"So where are they going?" said Juan.

"They're coming down to Gilman Drive." Viewpoints in the eucalyptus showed Robert and the librarian, Carlos Rivera, walking through deep brush. The pictures were fragmentary, since there weren't many cameras there, but Miri was sure no one was pulling a swap on her. The two would reach the roadway in a couple of minutes.

"But that's true of anyone coming south."

Miri stopped her bike, put a foot on the ground. "Look! You want me to say I don't know where they're going, is that it?"

The Orozco kid stopped his wikiBay bike beside her. "Honest, I'm just wondering."

Xiu Xiang popped into existence, and a moment later, so did a young version of Lena Gu. Their images were Barbie-doll stiff, but every day they got better. For instance, Lena had mastered facial expressions — and right now her look was stern. "Juan isn't the only one with this question, young lady. If you don't know , you should say so."

Xiu just sounded anxious. "Lena and I are driving around the north side of campus. Maybe my research was all wrong. How can we help if the action is on the south?"

Miri struggled to make her own voice serene. "I think you got it right, Dr. Xiang. Juan and I have been following Robert closely, but now… I guess I don't know where he's going. That makes it even more important that we stay spread out. Please Dr. Xiang, if you and Lena can stay on the north side, that would be best." Over the last few days, Xiu had done some good detective work; she could be really smart when she wasn't doubting herself. They knew that Huertas kept the Librareome shredda in his labs on the north side. If Robert's friends planned a "direct protest," that would be the sensible place for them to break in. So why aren't Robert and the others heading that way ? Big boogers of uncertainty were beginning to form.

But Dr. Xiang nodded, and not even Juan Orozco asked the obvious embarrassing questions. This was still the Miri Gang. For better or worse.

The treetop cams had lost sight of Robert and Mr. Rivera. Miri dropped those viewpoints and glanced up the hillside, almost with a naked-eye perspective. The other two were still out of sight. They could come out on Gilman Drive almost anywhere.

Miri licked her lips. "The main thing is to keep these — "

" — crazy fools — " said Lena.

" — from doing anything too destructive."

"Yeah," said Juan, nodding. "Who do you think that remote guy is, the one who's walking with them?"

"What?" Juan was a mostly clueless kid, but sometimes he was accidentally very sharp. Miri played back her last images of Robert and Mr. Rivera. Those pics were fragmentary, but Juan was right. The two were looking at a consistent location that drifted along with them — and granting it a certain amount of open space. So. A private presence.

Juan said, "I'll bet they're seeing Zulfi Sharif."

"I'll bet you're right." Not for the first time tonight, she tried to bring up her Sharif control. Still no response.

So do something ! "C'mon, Juan." She walked her bike out onto Gilman Drive, crossing the lanes slowly enough not to get a ticket.

Xiu and Lena drifted along. "Traffic is heavy," said Lena.

"It's the belief-circles clash. People are attending in person." The gaming buzz had come out of the blue, but Miri could not imagine that it was coincidence. Setting this up must have involved deep coordination. Even though the clash was still just rumor, there was a huge turnout. The cars around them were dropping off passengers. People were laughing and shouting and talking, and walking toward the library. The sidewalks on the other side of Gilman Drive were all but empty.

She reached the far curb and looked back. "Come on , Juan!"

Now the sky above the library was twisting violet, a very nice fractal effect from some art co-op in northern China. She glanced at network status… It wasn't just automobile traffic that was heavy. She could see network trunks lighting up all over California. There were millions of viewpoints being exported from UCSD's campus. There were hundreds of thousands of virtual participants. As Juan caught up with her, she said, "It's a whirlwind. Like a big game first-day."

The boy nodded, but he wasn't paying attention. "Look what I found in the street."

The gadget was half crushed. Metal fibers hung from one side.

She waved for him to drop it. "Roadkill. So?" If a node lost connectivity and then got into the street — well, something that small would get run over.

"I think it's still online, but I can't get a catalog match."

Miri looked closer. There was spiky flickering, but no response. "It's pingless wreckage, Juan."

Juan shrugged, then dropped the gadget into his bike bag. He had a blank look. He was still searching. "It looks like a Cisco 33, but — "

Fortunately, Orozco had not distracted everyone. Lena said, "Miri. I've found Robert and the Rivera fellow." There was a pause while Lena got the camera ID. There! Robert and Rivera were crossing the roadway a quarter mile west of them.

"We're on it, Lena!"

In Robert's time, this side of Gilman Drive had been Quonset huts. In later years, classic University of California concrete had housed the medical school. Now there was Pilchner Hall, which like almost everything else on campus looked as temporary as the old Quonsets.

The Mysterious Stranger led Robert and Carlos into the building. Real light followed them in concentrated pools, while farther down the hall the view was virtual. There might have been other people in the building, but the Stranger avoided them. He headed down a stairway, into a warren of tiny rooms. In places the floor was dusty. Elsewhere it was polished clean, or covered with streaky scrape marks. "Heh," said the Stranger, pointing at the scrapes. "Tommie has been at work. This whole floor has been rearranged for tonight. And there are parts that just won't show on the university's security plan."

Their path was now a trek through the maze. Finally, the Mysterious Stranger stopped at a closed door. He paused and spoke soberly. "As you may know, Professor Parker is not fully on board. For the sake of your various goals, I suggest you be careful not to enlighten him."

Robert and Carlos nodded.

The Mysterious Stranger turned and mimed knocking on the plastic door. His hand sounded like a hammer pounding heavy wood. After a moment, the door opened and Winston Blount peered out. "Hello, Carlos." His gaze passed less favorably over Robert and the Stranger. He waved them in.

The room was a triangular wedge trapped between slanting walls. A concrete caisson took up most of the floor space. Tommie Parker sat on the floor beside a handcart that was filled with plastic bags and backpacks. "Hiya, guys. You're right on time." He glanced at his laptop. "You'll be pleased to know that press and police did not notice your arrival. At the moment we're standing in a room that doesn't even exist. This — " he slapped the caisson " — is still visible to the university, but it will happily lie about what we're doing."

Robert edged round the blocky structure. "I remember this." In the 1970s, the caisson had been out-of-doors, covered with a wooden lid. He looked over the edge. Yes, just as before: iron ladder rungs marched downward into darkness.

Tommie stood up. He had his laptop in a sling that left the keyboard and display accessible, but also freed him to move about. In his own way, Tommie Parker had arrived at wearable computing.

Tommie reached into the handcart and lifted out two plastic bags. "Time to leave your Epiphanies behind, guys. I've got new clothes for you."

"You really meant it," said Rivera.

"Yup. Your old clothes will help me fake your location. Meantime the real you will be with me, and using far better equipment."

"Not laptops, I hope," said Winnie, giving Parker's laptop sling a doubtful look. But he and the others shed shirts and pants and shoes. They still had their contact lenses, but now there was nothing to drive them. The real lighting was bright enough, but without external sound and vision, the room felt like a coffin.

Tommie seemed genuinely embarrassed by all the naked flab. But not for long. He pulled open one of the plastic bags and passed around pants and shirts. They looked like plain gray fabric, working clothes. Carlos held his new shirt up to the light and peered at the weave. He folded it between his hands and rubbed the sides together. "These clothes are dumb."

"Yup. No infrared microlasers, no processor nodes. Just the good cotton as God meant us to wear it."

"But — "

"Don't worry, I have processors."

"I was joking about laptops, Tommie."

Tommie shook his head. "No, not laptops, either. I have Hurd boxes."

Huh ? Without his wearable, Robert was stumped.

Carlos looked just as blank, but then some errant natural memory must have popped up: "Oh! Hurd OS! But isn't that obsolete?"

Tommie was rummaging in the second plastic bag. He did not look up. "Not obsolete. Just illegal… Ah, here they are. Genuine Hecho en Paraguay" He handed each of his co-conspirators a black plastic box about the size and shape of a paperback book. There was a real keypad on one side and a metallic clip on the other. "Just snap it on your waistband. Make sure the metal tab is actually touching your skin."

Robert's new pants were too short, and the shirt fit like a tent. He slipped the criminal computer on his waistband and felt the cold touch of metal on his skin. He could see a faint overlay now. It was a picture of a keypad, and when his hand rested on the box at his waist, he saw markers corresponding to his fingertips. What a pitiful interface.

"Don't cover the box with your shirt, Carlos. All the comm ports are on it."

Winnie: "You mean we have to turn in just the right direction to make a connection?"

"Yup. While we're below, our only external routing will be through my laptop. And my laptop's only uplink will be through this." Tommie held up something that looked like a prayer wheel. He gave it a little spin. There was a glint in the air, sliding along a thread too fine to see, to a connector Tommie held in his other hand. He turned and plugged that into a box on the handcart. "Check it out."

Robert pulled his shirt back from his waistband, and turned so the box had a clear view of Tommie's laptop. Nothing. He entered a simple command, and now he could see through the walls again! North of Gilman Drive, there were even more people heading toward the library. Indoors… he drifted back up the hallway. Still deserted. No ! There was a fellow walking purposefully down toward their "secret" room. Then he lost the viewpoint.

"Hey, Tommie — "

"What?"

The Stranger's voice sounded in Robert's ear. The audio was as bad as his old view-page, but he clearly heard: "You didn't see a thing, my man."

"I — " Robert swallowed. "Your fiber link is working fine, Tommie."

"Good, good." Parker walked among them, making sure that everyone could receive and transmit. "Okay. You're all equipped. That was the fun part. Now here's the pack-mule part." He pointed at the backpacks in the handcart.

Robert's pack weighed something like forty pounds. Carlos's looked about the same. Tommie and Winnie had smaller packs. Even so, Blount struggled with his load. Winnie's like an old man . Yeah, Reed Weber's heavenly minefield. Robert looked away before Winnie could take offense. He shrugged his own pack into a more comfortable position and complained, "I thought this was the future, Tommie. Where's the miniaturization? Or at least the automatic freight handlers?"

"Where we're going, the infrastructure ain't friendly, Robert." Tommie glanced at his laptop's display. "Hello, Mr. Sharif. Okay, it looks like we're all ready to go." He bowed them toward the dark hole in the middle of the room. "After you, gentlemen."

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