Absorption (9 page)

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Authors: John Meaney

BOOK: Absorption
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‘We go into one of the shops,’ said Trudi. ‘Try to get out through the back.’
 
‘No.’ Roger hefted his money bags. ‘This way.’
 
He pushed the pace into a near sprint. Behind him, Rick and Trudi muttered. Beyond a buttress he hauled left, into a tiny space between two buildings.
 
‘Huh,’ said Rick.
 
Then they were following a narrow lane parallel to the street. Unable to hold bags out to the side, they had to move awkwardly. Soon Roger’s shoulders were filled with pain, and he was finding it hard to breathe. Behind him, Rick and Trudi were struggling.
 
But after a time the sound of whistles diminished, and then they were following a descending route down a wider road where trams clanged along shining tracks.
 
‘There,’ said Roger. ‘That’s Alisha.’
 
He pointed to a thin man in civilian clothes standing down on the bridge across the Limmat. The Alisha-avatar - no doubt a senior police officer - was facing away from them, and he pulled the other two behind a tram stop just before the avatar turned. After a few seconds, Roger peeked out, and when the time was right he led the other two across the street.
 
Then they circled around the magnificent Hauptbahnhof, and jumped down on to the tracks. No one cried out or whistled as they stumbled towards an empty train. Roger pulled open a carriage door and threw the money-bags inside. Then he boosted Trudi up the step and through the door, followed by Rick.
 
Ten seconds later, he was inside as well and pulling the door shut.
 
‘Nice work,’ said Rick. ‘Game over.’
 
Everything shimmered around them. Roger closed his eyes, then opened them to see the lounge in their student house, while he, Rick and Trudi were sitting on quickglass seats extruded by the floor. Alisha, Angela and Stef were standing, facing in various directions. They turned.
 
‘Well played,’ said Alisha. ‘Considering our team had the greater knowledge of the city’s layout, you dodged us far more easily than expected.’
 
‘You call that easy?’ Rick was rubbing his arms and shoulders. ‘My God, it was painful.’
 
Trudi gestured. ‘It was Roger who found a hidden alleyway. And spotted you, Alisha, outside the station.’
 
‘You saw through my avatar?’
 
‘Uh . . . Yeah,’ said Roger.
 
‘Interesting.’ Alisha blinked several times. ‘I’m looking at your escape route now. How did you know that alley was there? The road appeared to be a dead end.’
 
‘It was instinct.’
 
Alisha looked at him. ‘If you say so.’
 
So how
did
I know?
 
He tried to blank his expression, but could not tell if he succeeded. Then Stef was ordering the room to serve daistral, and everyone got busy with refreshing themselves, while Alisha continued to glance at him, and he grew increasingly puzzled by his own ability to navigate the hidden byways of 1920s Zürich, a simulation of a period he had never studied, on a world he had never visited.
 
Correction: an
historically accurate
simulation, verified by twenty-two different methods, according to Alisha. And she was a near-Luculenta, therefore impossible to beat in a game situation, or so he would have thought.
 
SIX
 
EARTH-CLASS EXPLORATORY EM-0036, 2146 AD
 
Rekka Chandri woke from delta-coma with a headache. All around, the rest of the pre-contact team seemed fresh-eyed, their voices energetic as they sat up on couches and greeted each other. They were in a spartan cargo hold that made no attempt to emulate a comfortable passenger lounge. Nor was there any greeting from the unseen Pilot who had navigated them through mu-space to here.
 
But she was offworld, in orbit around a new planet for the first time.
 
‘Hey, Rekka,’ called Mary Stelanko, the team leader. ‘Are you okay?’
 
The others were checking holo displays, conversation suspended, ensuring their equipment was intact. Acting professional: maybe Rekka ought to do the same.
 
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’ll just check my autofact has survived.’
 
Tapping a display into being, she ran a status check, then powered down the kit.
 
‘All right.’ Mary clapped her hands together. ‘I’m not going to tell you to be careful down there, just as there’s no way I’m going to threaten you with dire consequences if you make contact—’
 
‘I’m glad you’re not telling us that,’ said Lucy Chiang, to laughter.
 
‘—or with even worse penalties if you do make accidental contact and not do it right, because I expect professionalism at all times.’
 
Amid catcalls, Ralph Antero said: ‘You sure you got the right team, Mary? Professionals? Us?’
 
‘Whoop it up now, because down on the surface you’ll be all alone and quiet as mice. All right, everyone?’
 
‘Were mice quiet?’ asked Lucy.
 
‘I thought you had to click them,’ said Ralph. ‘But history was never my subject.’
 
Mary smiled, relaxing her shoulders, holding her hands at hip height, palms down. The room quietened.
 
‘Be careful, be watchful, be safe.’
 
‘You got it, boss.’
 
‘Let’s get to the drop-bugs.’
 
Penrose tiles fluttered back as a bulkhead dissolved like leaves in a wind. Beyond lay an array of one-person capsules, dark-grey and glossy, ready to launch.
 
Oh God, I’m scared.
 
Then Mary’s hand pressed upon her shoulder, and she stepped forward, heading for her drop-bug.
 
Soon she would be on a new world, fending for herself, observing.
 
 
As Sharp walked alongside Father he was excited, almost dancing. For Father’s presence was formidable: broad shoulders and dark fur, square jaw, massive spreading antlers. Few Mint City dwellers emitted such a sense of presence. Smooth-foreheaded women glanced from beneath their veils, their amber eyes widening in horizontal slits, unconsciously reacting.
 
Some day Sharp would have antlers of his own. That notion brought strange feelings whirling inside him.
 
Then they were in the market square. Such a bustle of individuals! A thousand folk from dozens of castes thronged the temporary booths and huts and stalls, their scents an overwhelming kaleidoscope of exotic and pungent fragrances. The place was so crowded, you could almost hear the people.
 
Father’s tunic was his best: shining white, edged with brocade, decorated with overlapping triangles to denote the Geometers Caste. By chance, a group of Mint City Geometers was passing before them, their tunics less formal, attending to everyday business. Seeing Father, they paused; but Father, as a visitor from an outlying borough, waved them on. They bowed, antlers dipping, then continued past.
 
With the ceremony forthcoming, Father must be drenched with urgency; yet his manners were perfect. Sharp felt so very proud.
 
Beyond the square, they took a shadowed alleyway. From last year’s visit, he remembered that this was a shortcut to the Forum. He hurried, matching Father’s quickening pace. From a doorway he caught a faint scent, stale and embarrassing: one of the house daughters had illicitly entertained a young warrior here, perhaps one of the City Guard. Father strode on, perhaps not noticing.
 
~Dad? Are you . . . scared?
 
The answering scent was strong and reassuring.
 
~Everything will be fine. With my son here, how could it not be?
 
Coming out into sunlight, they crossed Central Plaza, a circular expanse paved with shards of turquoise and white. A few merchants and household ladies were walking here, no one else. Sharp opened his mouth, belatedly noticing the aftertaste of Father’s reply, the involuntary fear he had tried to mask.
 
Then they were at the broad steps leading up to the Forum.
 
Bannermen fell in to either side, accompanying them as they climbed. Scarlet-and-gold banners flapped in the breeze. The smell of oil rose from leather scabbards and the polished blades they enclosed. Once inside the shaded atrium, where wall-mounted plants scented cooler air, the bannermen moved away. All around were alcoves with odour-absorbing hangings, set there for confidential conversations between lobbyists and councillors. Sharp held his breath out of politeness.
 
Two servants hurried past with covered meal-pots, and Father emitted faint amusement. Not one to make fun of lower castes, he was probably thinking of yesterday morning as all four of them - Mother and Bittersweet in the cart, Sharp and Father walking alongside - came into sight of the city walls.
 
Because to one side, in a village with open courtyards, a poor family had been eating their vegetables in full sight of anyone who happened to pass by. To Sharp it had been disgusting; but Bittersweet, young brat that she was, had jumped around on the cart, pointing and making fun. It took Mother to stop her, with a frigid declaration that poverty was nothing to joke about.
 
Bittersweet could be such a pain, but part of Sharp wished she could be here too, to drink in the scents and sights of the Mint City Forum, to see the straight-backed bureaucrats and officials who—
 
~Tang, you are summoned.
 
Father lowered his head.
 
~I respond, Councillors.
 
They entered the so-called Sphere Chamber, in fact a hemispherical space decorated in a melange of colours and scents, an overpowering design. Here - in the white marble chair that rose like a throne in the centre - was where Father would prove his worth, demonstrating the maturity of his professional and intellectual life, to finally become a first-class citizen.
 
Sunlight made the marble chair glow.
 
In the encircling gloom, only a handful of Council Elders sat, though the circular bench-seats could contain up to two hundred councillors if necessary. Two of the Elders appeared to be asleep, chins on chests and their white-edged antlers drooping.
 
An attendant made a gesture, and Sharp stood still while Father continued along a soft blue strip of carpet. At the white chair he turned to the Elders and waited.
 
Meanwhile, another attendant led Sharp to the public gallery where he could sit. A silver-furred maiden at the bench’s far end looked at him, amber eyes widening. Then she pulled up her veil and tugged her robe’s cowl forward.
 
Sharp’s hearts gave synchronized thumps.
 
A tall male entered the chamber, his sleeveless robes and brocaded headgear imposing, his antlers broad and lined with age, his long arms patterned with whorls of heavy scarring. This was the Chief Librarian; he was trailed by four acolytes who bore silk-wrapped instruments in their gloved hands.
 
Father took his place on the marble chair. His big chest rose and fell, his breathing controlled, holding in all scent.
 
Addressing the Elders and Father, the Chief Librarian delivered a soft common-language sermon that powerfully evoked racial memories of life on the pre-civilized plains, followed by the painful evolution of culture and intelligence. Sharp’s eyelids drooped. Then he forced himself to inhale and sit up, before checking the cowled maiden.
 
Her attention was on Father, not on him, but never mind. Father’s success would extend to cover his family, and today was going to be spectacular - Sharp was sure of it.
 
Many times he had watched as Architects and Engineers created intricate clay models from Father’s designs, etched in solidified sand. At night, Father used the larger sandpit behind the house to track the movement of stars. The neighbours considered him brilliant, ignoring the darkness of his fur that proclaimed him an immigrant, child of a northern tribe.
 
Among the villagers, Father was the first immigrant of his generation invited by the Council to Share his knowledge here in Mint City. Sometimes Sharp dreamed of years to come, when he himself was adult and Father was a City Elder. Perhaps it might happen for real.
 
Bronze glinted.

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