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well, they felt as if they were conducting an orchestra but
otherwise it was like trying to play the piano with a mallet.
Frequently they found themselves lost in obscure quadrants
of data, whose meaning was lost in its complexity, and
would withdraw to the parts of the model they felt they
understood.
A fog drifted in the dataspace data drifting around the
models like dust in a draught. Many factors were in play,
lots of tiny chances brewing in their favour, like micro-
scopic drops of moisture: if only they would condense into
a single pool &
The cowboy cloud looked pretty stable as it headed for
Paris.
You know, said Jim, he s on the run so perhaps no one
knows where he is and, as such, there s no information
flow. They could drive right past him and the model would
never know because no one else would know.
Someone must have a pretty good idea of where he s
headed it can t be a total secret.
Maybe there are several possible locations, suggested
Fuch-Smith. Maybe it s several people going different
ways.
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T HE A RMAGEDDON T RADE
Maybe we re just not getting any warmer. When we hit
Paris again, we go south.
It ll be about nine p.m., said Jane. I ll take the night shift
so you guys can get some shuteye. Unless he s near Paris,
which looks unlikely, nothing much can happen before
tomorrow and I only need a couple of hours sleep, tops.
There was a huge police presence in Paris as the cowboys
approached. After the Frankfurt outrage, the French author-
ities were worried they would suffer the same kind of erupt-
ion. The Germans had told them about the missing nukes
and they were terrified that the weapons could be some-
where in their city. A few years ago the media would have
been blaming the Americans for the flare-up in Frankfurt,
but times had moved on: the terrorists had succeeded in
their primary goal of driving a wedge between East and
West and set an agenda of harsh battle-lines in which old
friends became secret enemies and old enemies became
overt allies.
The city braced itself for a sudden outburst of violence,
but none came. The cowboy convoy drove down the rue de
Rivoli, the Champs-Élysées, then on to La Défense. It turned
south, and about an hour later the planet was shrinking.
Amsterdam? said Jim.
Amsterdam, agreed Fuch-Smith.
Let s turn them around, said Jane.
Why not take them through Brussels on the way?
suggested Jim.
Sure. That s a six-to-seven-hour route, Jane mused.
She passed the order, and within a few minutes the
convoy was heading for Brussels.
Amazing, said Fuch-Smith as, seconds later, the planet
was rotating differently, cells popping up on the outer shell.
It s like magic.
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C LEM C HAMBERS
It s the power of the media, said Jim. They re like a
swarm of transmitters on the cowboys tail broadcasting
every little move. He pulled up the TV news screens.
Look, they re all showing the convoy taking a detour. The
cowboys are no joke now, not after Frankfurt. That U-turn
sent the message that there s a new hunt on. He laughed.
This could actually be fun, he said.
I wonder what the old boys think is going on, said Fuch-
Smith. It must be freaky for them to be pushed around by
some invisible hand.
Right, bed-time, said Jim, stumbling to his feet. Call
me if it starts getting really hot. Anything over sixty per
cent or weird.
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Chapter 32
Jim could sleep anywhere, anytime. He just closed his eyes
and was gone. While the great drama was playing out
around him, he lay snoring, his head buried deep in his
pillows.
As he slept, the convoy trundled north, every kilometre
adding to their chances. Jane sat alone, watching the planet
grow. On the one hand it was a marvel, but on the other a
menace, she thought. It was like witnessing the invention of
a deadly weapon. It would change everything. There was
clearly so much going on that they didn t comprehend. The
swirls and patterns all meant something unique and they
were only grasping a tiny part of the picture. Here was a
new Rosetta stone, a key piece for a whole new science, a
device with ramifications far beyond her imagination. In a
sense it was a kind of time machine, a true fortune-teller, a
genuine oracle. Radar had been magical seventy years ago:
it saw through space like no eye could, used invisible beams
and abstract concepts to reveal a picture that had given the
Allies in the 1940s a key edge in defeating a terrible enemy.
Was this new tool any less astounding than radio waves
had been only a handful of years before? The electro-
magnetic spectrum had been unknown to mankind for 99.9
per cent of human existence and the genius of science and
philosophy had missed it for thousands of years.
While humans had preened and posed, fighting to prove
they knew all the answers, they hadn t even scratched the
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C LEM C HAMBERS
surface of what was going on, any wisdom they had over-
shadowed by their stupendous arrogance. Even now it must
be the same story, she thought, as she watched the models
slowly morph.
In the final analysis, it was human arrogance she fought,
a force of utterly astonishing proportions. Mindless belief
was the root of all evil, not money. Warped faith, ingrained
insanity, random acts to support untenable ideas these
were the sustenance her enemies fed on. She was part of an
unending battle between the smart and the stupid. Land no
longer held the key. Ideas were the field of combat to be
fought over with the forces of Reason. Sadly that wasn t
how people were wired: when their primitive models failed,
they resorted to violence. Win an argument and you earned
a kick in the head. That was why she did what she did:
someone had to kick back for Reason.
The cowboy planet was growing nicely but it didn t look
as though it would terminate in Brussels. Amsterdam
seemed the logical next stop. The media was reporting
every twitch and turn of the convoy as if it was some kind
of sporting event. They were trailing about a hundred
metres behind it, marshalled by a separate troop of local
police, as it ploughed on relentlessly into the night, lights
flashing and sirens blaring.
What a gas, she thought. The media didn t care that in a
traditional operation their coverage would destroy a
mission before it had even begun. They had no interest in
the stakes: they would do anything to get their story and to
hell with the consequences. Well, it was great for once to
make them stooges, to be the user rather than the used.
At sunrise the procession would reach Amsterdam and
things looked promising.
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Chapter 33
Jim, Fuch-Smith and Jane stood glued to the model. The
cowboys were in Amsterdam and the score was at eighty
per cent. He was there he must be. Al-Karee was
surrounded. The convoy circled the city and the score
stayed constant.
He s playing dead, said Fuch-Smith. He s lying in
someone s basement and waiting.
We ll try to quarter him down a bit more over the next
few hours, then the Dutch ll go house to house.
Just twenty per cent and we re done, said Jim. I think
I m going to bust a blood vessel if I have to sit here and
stress out for another two hours.
Relax, said Jane. There s nothing we can do now
except sit and wait. We know he s there. We ve just got to
let the folks on the ground do their thing.
They turned as the sim-room door opened, expecting to
see Jeffries carrying in a tray of coffee and refreshment.
Instead it was Davas.
Jim jumped up from his chair. Max! You ve come just in
time. We ve got al-Karee pinned down in Amsterdam. It
looks like he s behind the whole thing.
Excellent, said Davas. Better than I had hoped.
I m Sebastian, said Fuch-Smith, holding out his hand.
Good to meet you, said Davas. Ms Brown, I am glad to
see you too.
Likewise, Professor.
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C LEM C HAMBERS
I bring my own news, which is serious and also myster-
ious in it own way. But first let me at the model. Davas
took off his old leather jacket and pulled on a gauntlet.
How many dimensions can you give me?
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