Omnitopia Dawn by Diane Duane

we won’t be credentialing him again. I’ll see who in my department gave him a pass and make sure they tighten up their requirements.” Her mouth was set tight: an uneasy, unattractive look on what was usually such an untroubled face. “He was probably just some blogger . . .”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Phil said as the limo pulled away from the building. “What I’m interested in is the source of the rumor. It’s information that could be useful. See what you can find out.”
    “Of course, Mr. Sorensen.”
    He sighed and leaned back against the cushions as the limo turned onto Fifty-fifth Street. Phil gazed out the selectively polarizing smart glass windows at the traffic and the buildings, at the curious faces gazing at the limo’s windows (ebony dark to them) and wondering Is that somebody important? It was only a few minutes’ drive to the building that housed Phil’s corporate offices, but all the while he could feel Deirdre getting more tense. “Listen, Deirdre—”
    “I should have stopped him,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
    “If it hadn’t been that guy, it would’ve been someone else,” Phil said. “You heard someone mention Omnitopia just a few moments before he did. This is the press we’re talking about. If they can’t find a fight, they’ll manufacture one. It’s their job. Peaceful relations between competitors don’t sell any papers.”
    His PR chief said nothing for a moment, pretending to be distracted by the horn of a cab changing lanes and veering too close to the limo; and her tension in no way ebbed. “You’re right, of course,” Deirdre said, as the limo pulled up in front of Infinity Inc.’s New York headquarters.
    Phil said nothing. The security guy riding shotgun got out and opened Deirdre’s door. “Thank you,” Phil said. “Listen, call my PA in the morning and let’s make some time to look over the schedule for the next few days. I’m going to want to make some changes.”
    “Of course, Mr. Sorensen. Have a good evening.”
    The door closed. The security man got in again, shut his own door, and the limo started up. “Hartnell and Wise, sir?” the driver said over the speaker.
    “That’s right.”
    The car purred through the early rush hour traffic, stopping, starting again, turning for the journey crosstown. Phil stretched against the cushions, pulled out his PDA again, checked his stock one more time. IICC now down four points.
    He frowned, put the PDA away, and—having nothing better to do—pondered Deirdre’s uncharacteristic nervousness. After a little while, the answer came to him. She was freaked because what happened there would normally have made me go ballistic when we were away from the cameras. And this time it didn’t.
    Phil smiled—a smile that the people he worked with would normally have found most disquieting. Deirdre had no way of knowing that there was about to be a big change in her boss’ attitude toward Omnitopia—bigger than almost anyone who worked closely with him at Infinity Inc. would have believed possible. So much is going to change. And when it does, the annoying questions are going to stop at last.
    The midtown traffic now left Phil a good few minutes to contemplate, with increasing pleasure, what that was going to feel like. Finally the limo slid up to the curb and stopped. The security guard got out and opened his door. Phil stepped out in front of a Park Avenue address that looked much like its neighbors to either side: a discreet white limestone edifice four stories high with a gilt- and-iron gate protecting a beautiful beaux arts walnut door. As he crossed the sidewalk, the inner door swung open, and the gate buzzed and unlatched.
    Inside the door waiting for him was the handsome silver-haired assistant who managed the outer office of Hartnell and Wise. “Miss Wise is waiting for you, sir,” she said, and led the way up the marble staircase to the office at the top of the landing.
    The assistant opened the door