Geosynchron Read Online Free PDF Page A

behind Petrucio's smugness?
    Natch gives his internal system a silent command to activate
MultiReal.
    Within the flicker of an instant, Natch can feel his previous ennui
retreating before the dazzle of MultiReal. He can sense the infinite
probability of the multiverse unfolding before him. Anything he can
imagine, any combination of event and happenstance-it all lies
sprawled before him, no more than a mathematical progression of
muscle movements away. He can sense potential realities ranging from
the vindictive to the comical to the absurd-realities where Natch
hurls insults or oozes flatteries or utters nonsense syllables. All he
needs now is to use the power of MultiReal to latch on to Petrucio's
neural interfaces. And then the pas de deux will begin: Natch's mind leaping with possibilities, Petrucio's mind twirling in unwitting
response, over and over again in the space between frozen seconds. At
the Tul Jabbor Complex, when Petrucio had his own version of MultiReal, he could choose realities of his own; here he will be helpless as a
marionette, victim to Natch's manipulation of his own subconscious.
When Natch finds the one potential reality that suits his purposes, he
will close the choice cycle, and for that instant the world will conform
to his desires. Petrucio will follow through with the possibility Natch
has selected for him, powerless to do otherwise.

    Natch lunges for Petrucio's neural interfaces with a mental reflex
that feels like throwing a lasso.
    And finds nothing.
    It is as if Natch has attempted to engage in a tete-a-tete with the
slab of domed concrete above him. MultiReal has called out, but
Petrucio's mental facilities are not responding.
    The panic must be visible in his eyes, because after a few seconds a
wry smile creeps up one side of Petrucio's face. It is not a cruel smile
or a malicious smile so much as an amused one. He straightens up and
smoothes the wrinkles from his designer slacks with a brisk flick of the
wrist.
    "I thought so," says Petrucio. "Frederic and I aren't afraid of your
MultiReal tricks. They won't work in this place." He gestures at the
shadowy apex of the dome above him. "You might as well conserve
your energy, Natch. You're not going anywhere."
    And within a few seconds, he is gone, leaving Natch alone with the
gloom and the darkness.

    3
    At first it was nothing more than an occlusion of the stars, one of the
million bits of detritus covering the Earth like an aura. Satellites functioning and not, metal garbage from ancient construction, dead space
elevators. But unlike the rest of the rubbish, this occlusion was
expanding in that telltale pattern that indicated an approaching vector.
A ship. It was an ugly bastard, too, mottled gray and brown, with guns
protruding on all sides. Big enough to transport half a dozen hoverbirds, agile enough to conduct military exercises-but not quite fast
enough to avoid detection. By the time the ship extended its grappling
gear to make the hookup with the Orbital Detention and Rehabilitation Facility, Twelfth Meridian, the unconnectibles were ready for it.
    Quell had been kneeling behind an unlabeled crate on the dock
with dartrifle in hand for over ten minutes. Something must have staggered into that crate and died months ago, by the smell of it. He was
just about to make for another spot when a finger tapped him on the
shoulder. "What now?" he grunted.
    "You're sure it's Islanders on this one?" said Plithy, his voice
squeaky with nerves. Quell turned to face the boy and noticed that the
cartridge of black code darts on his gun was loaded crookedly and
primed for a misfire.
    "Course I'm not sure," said Quell. "You got the same information I did."
    "And what if the information's wrong? What if they get the jump
on us, like last time?" Plithy craned his scrawny neck towards the
opposite side of the dock, where the connectibles were hunkered down
awaiting the same ship. Every once in a while, Quell