Fall Revolution 4: The Sky Road

to represent the other side.
I’ve given this a lot of thought on the way over, and
checked through the US personnel here, and I have a suggestion
for the right person to approach.’
    ‘Sadie Rutelli,’ Ibrayev said.
    ‘That’s it! How did you know?’
    Ibrayev tapped his eyeband. ‘Great expert systems think
alike.’
    ‘Oh, well,’ Myra said, feeling a bit deflated.
‘I guess she’s the obvious choice. What are the
chances of meeting her?’
    Ibrayev rolled his eyes and blinked a couple of times.
‘According to her public diary… pretty good. She has
a blank space between 10 p.m. and midnight, which is when she
intends to go home. Would you like me to set up a paging program
to arrange a meeting?’
    ‘I sure would,’ Myra said.
    ‘It’s late,’ Khamadi said.
‘She’ll be tired.’
    ‘Make it the offer of a dinner date,’ Myra
suggested. ‘She can choose, I’ll pay. Just the two of
us -I hope you don’t mind, guys?’
    The diplomats dismissed the very idea that they might even
have the slightest thought of such a deeply unworthy emotion.
Myra and Ivan matchedfetches, and their electronic secretaries
got busy trying to reach Rutelli’s.
    ‘It may take some time to get through to her,’
said Ibrayev. ‘She’s busy.’
    Myra stood up. ‘Then I’ll get a shower and some
sleep at the hotel. If somebody says they want me urgently, call
my fetch. If Rutelli comes through, call me straight away,
direct. Otherwise – call me in the morning!’
     
    ‘I hope you’re not still enough of an ex-commie to
be embarrassed about all this,’ said Sadie Rutelli. She
passed Myra a flute of chilled champagne from the minibar of the
limo that had picked her up at the Waldorf.
    ‘Indeed not.’ Myra toasted her ironically. She was
leaning back in the leather seat and enjoying every second of it.
‘I know all about the expenses of representation.
It’s all in Marx. We ex-commies are all hardened cynics on
these matters.’
    ‘It’s great to see you again, Myra. It’s
been a long time.’
    ‘Yeah, what? Thirty-four years. Jesus. And you look like
2025 is when you were born.’
    Sadie, sitting in the seat opposite, looked quite stunning
with her long black hair, sable bolero and indigo evening-dress.
Myra remembered her as having been just as stunning in blue
fatigues. She’d been one of the UN Disarmament Commission
agents who’d stripped the ISTWR of its nukes after the war.
She had done it with tact and determination, and despite the
strained circumstances, Myra had warmed to her.
    ‘Oh, you flatter me,’ Sadie said. ‘I must
say you look younger yourself than I remember.’
    ‘Ah, I’m still working on that. Or the little
machines are.’ Myra stroked the backs of her hands,
relishing their now smoother and softer feel, the kind of thing
that cosmetic creams promised and nanotech machines
delivered.
    She felt vigorous, as well – she wasn’t
experiencing jet-lag (ekranoplan-lag… ) and her snatched
two hours’ sleep had refreshed her more than seemed
proportionate.
    ‘Still,’ said Sadie, ‘you can’t beat
back-ups, if you really want to be sure of living… a long
time.’
    ‘Oh, really?’ Myra tried not to scoff. ‘You
believe that thing works?’
    ‘To the extent that I’ve had a back-up taken,
yes.’
    ‘Has anyone ever come back from a
back-up?’
    Sadie frowned. ‘Not as such, no. Nobody’s ever
been cloned and had their backed-up memories imprinted on the
clone brain. Though there are rumours, about some tests
Reid’s men did, way back…’
    ‘With apes. Yeah, I know about that. How do you tell if
a fucking chimp’s personality has survived?’
    Sadie smiled. ‘Ah, Myra. You’re still a goddamn
dialectical materialist. I was going to say, there have been
cases where people have got the backed-up copy to run, in
VR environments. It’s expensive, mind. Latest nanotech
optical computers, those things that look like crystal balls.
Takes one hell of a lot of processing-power, but there are
some people who can afford it: rock-stars, film-stars and
such.’
    ‘Don’t they worry about the
competition?’
    ‘No, no!’ Sadie stared at her. ‘That’s
the point. The copies do the performances – the originals
just retire!’
    ‘Sounds like a raw deal,’ Myra said.
‘Imagine waking up and finding you’re living in a
silicon chip, and you have to work for the benefit of your
selfishoriginal.