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said, "Page, our savior, would want us to support Muslims. This is clearly his
wish."
Takahashi refers to Page's logged visit at Temple Rock just moments after the
Dome of the Rock was destroyed. The AI was one of the first mourners to
attempt to pray at the hijacked space. Page's virtual visit was seen by many
as a strong statement regarding the artificial intelligence's political
agenda.
"Page would not support violent acts of any kind," said Davydko Chistyakov,
the Russian lawyer who represented Page during the trial surrounding Mai's
death, in which Page was convicted of negligent homicide. "We're talking about
the same creature who stopped a riot by setting off the love bomb."
Though the AI could not be reached for comment, Page has made several public
statements regarding the strength of his convictions as a Muslim. This has
caused a great deal of concern among many Israeli officials. "There are over a
hundred thousand Maizombies. Page wields a lot of political power, whether he
wants to or not," said Zimra Heinz, Israel's defense secretary. "We caution
the intelligence to use that intelligence to consider the consequences of his
words and actions. A true messiah would be a man of peace."
"That's bull. Page's politics don't make him less of a savior," said Akira
Sasaki, the sect member appointed to the official role of defender of the
faith, speaking from his hotel room in Washington, DC, where he is awaiting a
continuance of the hearing of the U.S. Commission on Established Religions to
grant sect status to those who worship Page. "Politics have always been a part
of religion. Jesus had a very clear agenda himself. Why do you think the
Romans wanted him dead?"
Chapter 14 Mouse
I wind my way down the serpentine streets of the Latin Quarter toward the
Hotel California. The rain turns to sleet, and I wish I hadn't left my jacket
hanging on its peg in the back room of the restaurant.
I kept thinking about the strange phone call I'd gotten from the not-Page.
Because of my infamy, newbies try to hack me all the time. Usually, though,
they are a lot more & shall we say, social. They go for funny or clever. They
want to play nice with me, to get my attention, so that I'll be impressed with
them or something. This guy, whoever he really is, intentionally tried to give
me the screaming heebie-jeebies. Before I log off the public access, I send a
boomerang virus after him, but I doubt I'll get a hit. My boomerang was clever
when I wrote it, but while I rotted away in prison most wire wizards continued
to advance. That means that sometimes my best is old news. I wonder if the
Inquisitor and Morningstar realized that when they "hired" me.
I reach the hotel, which isn't much to look at. Halfway down a very typically
Parisian block hangs a marquee proclaiming this particular sliver of a
seven-story, yellowing plaster wall the Hotel California. I would have walked
past it if I hadn't known to look for it. I stop under a greenish awning and
peer in the picture windows at the front-desk clerk. A couple of overstuffed
chairs that look inviting sit near the window.
I imagine that I'm early, but sitting by a clanking radiator for a couple of
hours twiddling my thumbs beats standing out in the freezing rain any day. As
I push open the door, I see Morningstar coming down the stairs. He's dressed,
as usual, like some kind of male model all tailored and wrinkle-free.
Morningstar notices me and checks his watch. He actually checks a watch, not
the LINK. It flashes gold at his wrist, then slips back into its silk sheath.
The guy couldn't be more pretentious if he tried.
"Nice timepiece, Grandpa," I say.
"You're early."
I glance at the chairs. "I'll wait."
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"No. Come up."
A simple command or a brisk invitation, but for some reason my stomach crawls
again. I think it's the look in Morningstar's eyes. We stand more than ten
paces apart, but I swear I see an amber fire reflected in their light brown
depths. I hesitate. "Tell me more about the job."
"Not here."
Morningstar turns his back to me and heads up the narrow stairway. I look back
at the door I just came through, and think about leaving. The window gives me
a view of the sleet-splattered street. I tell myself, I can find another job.
I can find somewhere new to live. I can live without the LINK. I've started [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]