Authors: John Meaney

Absorption (39 page)

BOOK: Absorption

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She scared him.

Up ahead, Alisha nodded to the Luculenta, touched fists and walked away. She headed through a maze of vertical levitated flanges that formed a smiling human face or a scowling tiger, or merely a jumble of shapes, depending on the angle.

And was that a hungry look on the Luculenta’s face, as she watched Alisha leave?

His tu-ring chimed.

Shit.

But he accepted the incoming comms request, perhaps because of his unease, in case there was something wrong.

‘
Hey,
’ said Stef in a virtual holo. ‘
I just talked to Alisha.
’

‘In reality?’

‘
No, she’s not with us, and neither are you. But you’re not together, either.
’

‘Was that semantically null, or are you just babbling?’

‘
You’ve used that line before. Don’t you play double-bind games with me, Roger Blackstone.
’

‘Tell me you’re sober.’

‘
I’m sober. Just don’t expect me to tell the truth. Except we want you back here now.
’

‘Maybe—’

Beyond the virtual Stef he could see the real Luculenta, the presumed Rafaella Stargonier. A masked man was approaching her - he wore a holo fox’s head, a yellow cape - and he was staggering a bit, laughing. Propositioning her?

The man fell back, hand clutching his forehead as his fox mask disappeared.

A Luculentus, playing with altered mental states for recreation - he could have sobered with a single well-formed thought - but now he stood there, swaying. The Luculenta stared at him, trembling, then she pulled back, turned, and stalked away, heading for a mirror-bright ramp that led into the heart of Parallaville.

‘—I’ll see you soon, Stef. Endit.’

The virtual holo snapped out of existence just as Stef had been about to say something.

Stargonier wanted to kill him. Or something.

But she stopped herself. Because this was a public place? Or for some other reason?

Not believing his own actions - this was a kind of social daring that was new to him - Roger hurried down the yellow ramp to the Luculentus, who was rubbing his face but looking much better.

‘Sir? Are you all right?’

‘Absolutely. Thank you for asking, young man. The ability to tailor one’s own neurocognitive states for recreation is not for the unskilled.’

‘Does that mean you can make yourself feel well again?’

Normal colour was returning to the man’s face.

‘It does indeed. As you can see.’

‘Er, may I ask what you talked to the Luculenta about?’

‘Which Luculenta in particular?’

‘Just now.’ Roger pointed. ‘Standing there a few moments ago.’

‘I think you’re mistaken. Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs to take care with altered states.’

‘I—Maybe.’ Roger smiled, remembering the effect of the warm wine, and exaggerating it in his mind to deflect suspicion. ‘That could be the case.’

‘You weren’t looking for company during the Festival?’

‘Er, no, sir. I’ve friends waiting for me.’

‘Then enjoy the rest of the week.’

‘And you, sir.’

Roger walked away, heading for the mirror ramp. Clearly the Luculenta was dangerous, but perhaps mostly to her own kind. Still he would need to stay well back in case she—

Danger.

Overhead were three distant itches - that was how he felt them - and when he looked, he could just make out the hovering teardrop outlines. Belonging to the Luculenta?

Regardless, the devices were complex, not legal, and too powerful for him to waste time deciding whether they were armed.

Beneath his smartlenses, golden fire grew.

Then he commanded the lenses to clear as he let loose. The release of energy felt wonderful.

And when it was done, he made a move - not to follow the Luculenta, but to get out of Parallaville as fast as possible.

Sunadomari crouched over his smoking, fallen spydrops. The case had just become more complex. If there had not been one of his friends among the murder victims, this would have made him smile, enjoying the challenge.

Now what?

He could access the surrounding buildings’ memories using peacekeeper privileges, and he could try for SatScan, although there were so many smartmiasmas and holos in the sky for Festival, there was no guarantee of clear data. But he was aware that Hailey Recht, Skein designer, had fallen. Perhaps the normal methods of tracking were insufficient. If the enemy, whoever it was, could monitor Skein enquiries, then interrogating the buildings would send a clear warning; and if the enemy could alter Skein data without logging it, then whatever surveillance logs he found would be worthless.

His spydrops were not strictly legal. Given that, there was no point in keeping them as forensic samples. He stood up and commanded the quickstone ground to swallow up the destroyed devices, dissolving them.

When they were gone, he looked up into the sky, requesting SatScan access, not specifying a person to search for, just an aerial view of Lucis City. Then he changed his mind, realizing that even this much could be dangerous if the enemy was as capable as he suspected. He closed the link down.

But his spydrops had not perished because of someone with Skein mastery. Their design was proprietary all the way down, so the attack had been more basic and generic than tricky code. There was only one kind of person he knew capable of inducing destructive resonance in any kind of device.

And if young Roger Blackstone was an undercover Pilot, what were the chances that his parents were, as well?

There was no sign of Stef, Rick or the others near the mannequin; but Alisha was there, holding a jantrasta-coated apple from which she had taken a single bite.

‘Hey,’ said Roger.

‘You’re not with the guys?’

‘No. What have you been up to?’

Merrymakers swirled around them. Music played, cheerful and loud, with none of the discordant tones that seemed linked to danger.

‘Talking to Rafaella Stargonier, in actual person.’

‘The Luculenta? She’s here for Festival?’

‘Sure. She was asking about Dr Helsen, but if she’s researched in Skein then she already knows more than I do, because I’ve never bothered.’

‘So you’re still trying to get this Stargonier person to come and give a talk?’

‘Her precondition still applies. I mean, about me having to produce some original work just to tempt her.’

‘And when’s the talk due to take place? If it happens, I mean.’

‘The day after Festival.’

That would give him time to get home and tell Dad everything. There was something dangerous about the Luculenta, and he did not want Alisha to be at risk. Not only was she his friend - her father Xavier had done Dad a favour, allowing him to shield against the new peacekeeper scanners.

There was a way to guarantee that Rafaella Stargonier would deliver that talk, provided she was serious about doing it if Alisha produced original research. Perhaps it was a way to pin the Luculenta down to a known place and time.

‘My Dad knows some people, sort of.’ He tapped his turing, then pointed at Alisha. ‘I’m not sure if mentioning his name will do any good, but at least you now know they exist.’

‘A research institute?’ Alisha blinked, scanning virtual holos: the data he had just sent, plus more. ‘I see what you mean. They’re legitimate, but you wouldn’t find them easily. Makes you wonder how they get their funding.’

Roger wished he had thought of that. Perhaps he should have talked to Dad before offering this much - but he had done it now.

Alisha was blinking fast, her eyes focused on a point one metre in front of her. Her throat and lips moved, and then she nodded.

Finally, she said aloud: ‘Thank you, Ms Weissmann. We’ll be right there.’

After a final blink, she focused on Roger and smiled.

‘There’s someone in the building, despite the time. Obviously not the kind to celebrate Festival.’

‘You just talked to the institute?’

‘Sure. Shall we walk to someplace an aircab can land?’

‘Uh—’

‘You are coming with me, right?’

‘I . . .’ What he wanted was to sleep. ‘Sure.’

Alisha looked down at the jantrasta apple she was still holding. She dropped it, watched the ground swallow it, licked her fingertips, then returned her attention to Roger.

‘And while we fly, you can explain to me what Zajinets have to do with realspace hyperdimensions.’

‘Um. Right. Okay.’

They alighted from the aircab, in a pedestrian precinct that was otherwise deserted. Then the aircab whispered up into the air, and disappeared behind a tall quickglass tower at the precinct’s far end. Roger turned to the ochre building in front of them: quickstone pillars with motile scrollwork, ceramic doors that resembled antique wood, floating brass glowglobes. Old, discreet, well-financed.

‘No name sign,’ said Alisha.

The main doors curled open.

‘Hello,’ said a white-haired woman. ‘I’m Stella Weissmann. Do come in, you two.’

Her eyes were bright, her stance erect. Her forehead and scalp held no hint of wires or studs, but for a non-Luculenta she broadcast a lot of charisma.

‘Thank you,’ said Alisha. ‘We won’t take up much of your time.’

‘A chat would be very welcome, in fact. This way.’

There was a foyer of marble quickstone, then a corridor containing display cases, and finally Ms Weissmann’s office, with a faux wooden desk and chairs. Everyone sat.

‘So you’re interested in our alien friends?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Alisha. ‘Certainly in their reputed ability to teleport.’

‘Well, this
is
the Zajinet Research Institute, so you’re in the right place.’

‘I think we are.’ Alisha smiled at her. ‘Can I ask, is Zajinet teleportation a real phenomenon, or is it something else?’

‘What other kinds of thing were you thinking of, Alisha? Is it okay if I call you Alisha?’

‘Of course, ma’am. Uh, confabulation among witnesses, maybe caused by neurochemical imbalance. Aliens able to mess with human biochemistry are more likely than those with an ability to manipulate spacetime.’

‘That’s true, but the Zajinets’
known
abilities mean they’re rather different from the average, don’t you think?’

‘There is that. Do you think that they can make short hops through mu-space without using ships? Is that it?’

‘We’ve researched that possibility among all known sightings, ’ said Weissmann. ‘Some of the translocation events - that’s our term - have taken place amid smart buildings, leaving full surveillance data, and not just here on Fulgor. There has been no indication of the energy spillage one would expect from a mu-space transition.’

‘Then it’s just a coincidence, that they can teleport in realspace and fly mu-space ships?’

‘No, my dear.’ Weissmann’s eyes were wonderfully intelligent. ‘I think they grasp spacetime physics in a way none of us has, not even Pilots.’

BOOK: Absorption

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