Dr. Mim was cautious to the last and refused to meet with Yota in person, wanting to just call him on the encrypted channel. But apparently he was in a hopeless situation - after a month of negotiations he finally agreed. Or maybe it was just that by that time he had secured himself as much as possible and stopped being nervous.
The advantage of the Doctor was that Yota had no idea who he was and who he represented, while Mim knew little more than everything about his interlocutor, and in the correspondence hinted that he knew about his machinations and sexual preferences.
Yota's trump card was the Alliance, the power of the hundreds of Chinese clans and diasporas whose interests he represented. It was no less powerful than the Chinese state apparatus, and in some areas it surpassed it, because, unlike the state, the Alliance did not care about the rules and laws, it had its own code of honor. And a guarantor in the person of the Mediator, that is, Yota, who made sure that the clans did not violate each other's interests and cared about the prosperity of the Alliance.
And if Dr. Mim ditches the Alliance, they'll take him out from under the ground, trepanate him, and feed him with his own brain.
Iota sat down in the chair opposite the exit, looked at his watch: it was five minutes to eleven. Dr. Mim was about to enter the conference room. Even though there was not a single random person within half a kilometer, and hundreds of snipers had taken up positions, his mind was uneasy.
What if it was a setup? What if a kamikaze could set the same Manga on the customers' hideout? It wouldn't be hard for them to fire a missile. But the Doctor's offers were too tempting, the interest too obvious, for Yota to refuse a meeting.
No matter how much Iota tried to act through his people and find out anything about the developments at Site 326, the security service of the metacorporation worked too well, he could not infiltrate the agents, so he only knew approximately what was going on there. Desperate, he was about to give up the idea, but suddenly the Doctor wrote to him, suggesting...
If he's not bluffing, this information is worth billions!
Hearing footsteps outside the door, Iota tensed up, his heart racing. He had never been this worried, not even when he was chosen as a Mediator. Because his mother was Japanese, there was a good chance he would miss out, but the heads of the Alliance thought it would, on the contrary, help him remain impartial.
The hinges creaked, and into the room entered... A clown! In orange trousers and long-legged shoes, a white shirt with a jabot, and an orange cap. The orange smile seemed unnatural, intimidating. And the Doctor also had lenses that made his eyes lilac and changed the iris pattern. With his shoulder, he held a small white laptop computer to his side.
Iota jumped up and leaned toward him, holding out his hand - Dr. Mim shook it; he was wearing white medical gloves, the color of many layers of snow-white powder. And, of course, a thick layer of makeup. It was impossible to tell his age or his race.
- Good afternoon," Iota said, and the Doctor sat silently across from him.
Etiquette demanded that we talk about abstract topics before we got down to business, and he continued:
- Can you imagine, some of us are still in the morning! How should I address you?
The guest did not speak, but opened his notebook computer and typed a text which was reproduced by a mechanical program voice:
- Dr. Mim, this most accurately conveys the essence of who I am. Are you sure it's safe here?
Iota opened and immediately shut his mouth, and nodded.
- We've dealt with no less delicate matters in this room more than once. Why did you choose this way of communicating when there are hundreds of programs that change your voice?
The clown clicked buttons, and the program played back:
- It's a trick for the illiterate. It is elementary to clear the changed voice, and if you are recording, and I am sure you are, then when you want to find me, your experts will work with it, and you will find me if I say a word over the phone. That's how they used to catch telephone terrorists. I really hope you were smart enough not to broadcast our conversation to interested parties.
"Either he's so smart himself, or he has a competent team," Iota thought respectfully, and did not deny that the conversation was being recorded.
- Admittedly, I'm not that security literate, but I'm not insane. Of course there's no broadcast.
- Thank you for not trying to be an idiot or seem better than you are. It's conducive to candor.
- While we're on the subject of frankness, why the clown?
- Dr. Mim," corrected the guest. - It's a practice used in hospitals for critically ill children, to give them a thirst for life. We perform the same function, but for the sick community.
- Hmm, very symbolic. So why did you decide to enlist the help of my organization? - Iota finally got to the point.
- Because we don't have enough resources to carry out such an operation, but we can find out anything we want about anyone. You have what we need, we have what you need. It's not just an even trade, it's a win-win.
- What do you want? - Iota asked.
The doctor lifted the laptop in one hand, holding it out to Iota, and with the other quickly typed the text, which was immediately voiced:
- First familiarize yourself with our offer, then open folder number two. I don't think you will bargain. Nor will you ask any questions, because what we need won't be of any value in the near future... However, you can see for yourself if you want to.
"There were fragments of developments not only of augmented reality lenses, but also of a metaworld, all of which already had a name - the Dream universe; as well as developments of military simulators, allowing to control mechanisms remotely, and quantum computers. It seems that the Manga guest is across his throat, and he is ready to leak invaluable information for free. He wanted to surround the Doctor with guards, to blow the dust off of him - otherwise, if he decides to die, he will not deliver the priceless information.
Iota opened the second folder and couldn't help smiling, agreeing to all the conditions in advance. Dr. Mim simply wanted to get his people out of the Object, a million dollars in cash, and - to set up some sort of mining, and then transfer some bitcoins into his wallet. Let the IT guys figure it out, it seems simple in the description.
But for the sake of decorum, Iota did say:
- But you do realize that if it turns out who was behind the raid on the Subject, MANGA will declare war on us.
Dr. Mim reached out and took the laptop to answer:
- So, make sure you don't get lit up, turn the tables on somebody, you're good at that. As for the war with MANGA, it's inevitable, you know that yourself. But with my help, you'll be able to do something against them. This concludes our conversation. A week will give you enough time to go over the details with the people involved?
- We can't do it that quickly...
- I remind you: Discuss the details and prepare everything. The deadline for the operation is early August, we shouldn't do anything before July, it's April now. I think that's enough time. I will write to you in a week. And please, spare me the surveillance, you will not succeed anyway, and the inconvenience you have caused me is unlikely to please me.
The preliminary agreement was sealed with a handshake, the Doctor handed over the computer, Iota called his confidant, and he led his guest away. As he saw him off, the Mediator thought he really shouldn't annoy Mim by following him - what if he changed his mind and offered a fat piece to someone else? But he was more interested in something else: are people and children more valuable than developments? What was so special about them?
Or should he not pry into things he shouldn't? What if Mim had relatives as hostages?
I would have to keep an eye on the freed ones.
Iota had satisfied his curiosity and followed the fugitives from the Object for twelve years, but they really were of no value. But Dr. Mim showed up periodically and, for a small fee, shared valuable information and helped solve difficult problems.
Two years after the defeat of the base in Mexico, the image of the orange clown spread on the Net and became a symbol of crypto-anarchists, who were resisting globalization with all their might. Now it was no longer possible to find Dr. Mime, and any schoolboy could use his image.
Every
year Iota convinced himself more and more that there was no Doctor. A
front man came to negotiate, expressing the collective will.