Manifestations (29 page)

‘You’re throwing me out?’

‘We think you must find your own path now.’

Ah, Father. Thanks for the philosophy.

‘I’m sorry I disappointed you.’

‘You may go.’

~ * ~

Takashi hadn’t left the palace for a long time. He wasn’t sure when it started, but at some point he had his dolls, the Weave and Ryu to take all his time.

When he first claimed Citizenship, at fourteen, he had spent a lot of time at the coastal end of Yantz. Running with a group of other highborns and kicking up in Shanghai. For a weaver, this end of the megapolis was paradise. It was as close to the Weave as reality could ever get. The city was one layer after another, with tall buildings of glass, light and screens that wrapped around them. The city had trains, skyrails, rivers of squibs and tracks upon tracks beneath the surface. If you didn’t have overlay to find your way around, you’d never find anything.

He flicked on the different layers as he walked, picking up the historical, advertising and art overlays. He liked the art layer. Many locals had taken the time to pseudo-decorate the walls of the street and place animated sculptures on the ground and in the air above. A red tubular dragon dived and ducked through the building tunnels, and bright flowers grew over the otherwise harsh metal gratings.

His feet took him to Cybermesh, a hangout he used to go to when he was younger. How long ago was that? His record told him he hadn’t visited in five years.
Five years,
he realised,
is a long time to spend indoors.
He shook his head at himself.

The archway into the weave café was postered with floating messages from junior weaver circles and players looking for hookups.

Would you like to play a game with me?

Limahong is a gaming troupe looking for allies. We play Spirit Quest, Gombol and every year compete in the Tournament of Ten. Defensive experience necessary. No first years!!!

The café was dark and handmade. Even the slab walls were covered over with old doors and desktops. Second-hand immersion couches haphazardly took up the floor and the whole place stank. The bar offered all kinds of food, drink and its own range of mesh. The miasma of fumes was only added to by the smell of those who didn’t go outdoors much. It smelt like home.

The augmented view was thick with flags, graphics and other attention-seeking devices that orbited the patrons. Such was the humour of the place that a banner was hung over the exit saying: ‘BEWARE Outside world beyond this point’.

He heard his name whispered between them and all the patrons turned in their couches and lifted the goggles from their eyes.

A girl with nose rings and a bright yellow dress rushed to meet him. ‘Honourable Shima, what can I get you?’

Another voice overrode hers. ‘Let me get this one, Cindy. Takashi Shima, as I live and breathe. Someone pinged me that you were out and about.’

‘Lewis? You work here now? What happened to Old George?’

‘He still comes in. I practically run the place though. You want a private room I suspect?’

‘Yeah, yeah. I think that’d be best.’ He nervously looked around the café. Many of those on the couches had removed their visors and were watching him.

‘You’re not looking particularly buoyant. Can I get you a tea? I’ve got a mix that will swallow you whole.’

‘Perhaps something lower. I need to ween off.’

‘As you say. I see your brother is holding his own. Who’d have thought that Ryu Shima would make it to Prime. I always thought he was too stiff to get the emotional votes.’

‘That’s my brother, Lewis.’

Lewis raised his hands. ‘Not meant that way. He’s doing well in a really tough position. Let me get you that brew.’ The manager nodded at the girl, Cindy, and she pressed a catch under the bar.

‘Right this way, Takashi San.’ He pushed one of the wall panels into the ceiling and held back the curtain of clacking beads.

There was a short connecting corridor that ended with a door. The manager stretched a metal key from his belt loop and opened it up. ‘A bit old-fashioned, I know, but no one bothers to learn how to pick locks nowadays.’

Lewis tapped a wall switch and hanging lights with cloth shades lit up. The floor was padded and sprinkled with bolsters, cushions and blankets. He began asking Takashi a lot of questions as he went around the room, straightening the soft furnishings and folding the blankets. Was this what he had in mind? Would this suit his needs? Was there anything else he needed?

Takashi felt tongueless and unable to answer. It was a flop room, where mesh-heads crashed for their mindfucks and orgies. It was exactly the kind of place his mother would expect him to end up. He sat down heavily and leant back on one of the rests. He was feeling the combined effects of hangover, withdrawal and loss.

‘Um ...?’

‘Yes?’ Lewis asked.

‘What will I owe you after this? I should tell you that I’m not sure of my position right at the moment.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Takashi. May I?’ Lewis indicated the space beside him, asking if he could sit.

Takashi indicated assent.

‘I say don’t worry about it. My trade has doubled since you came through the door. You’re an exciting place to be.’

‘Why are you flattering me?’ Takashi asked. He knew when someone was being overly nice to him. He liked it.

‘I thought we could come to an arrangement. My patronage for yours.’

‘All I have to do is come here?’

‘You can live upstairs if you want.’

‘I’d prefer somewhere below.’

‘That can be arranged.’ Lewis looked at him. ‘Do we have a deal?’ He held out his hand.

‘For how long?’

‘Let’s see how it goes.’

‘Agreed.’ Takashi shook the other man’s hand. ‘So who are all those kids outside?’

‘Would you like to meet them?’ Lewis asked.

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, let me furnish you with a list you can go through. We’ve got some good starters out there.’

‘Okay,’ Takashi said.

Lewis paused but Takashi said nothing more. ‘So, ah. What can you tell me about this Kronos thing?’

‘Nothing I should pass on.’

‘Don’t be like that, Takashi. You know my front room want to hear something or I’ll lose my image.’

‘Who are they all?’ he said, looking through the list of names.

‘Didn’t you know you had fans, Takashi?’

‘Still? Not even my family talk to me.’

‘Well ... I guess they have a position to maintain too. Now how about that titbit?’

Takashi thought for a moment. He didn’t want to give out rumours, but there was very little fact to divulge. ‘It is likely that Kronos was made by Shen Li ...’

‘Really? So it
is
a symbiot? I lost that one. I’ll be back in a second with a snackuterie. Please come out front if you feel up to it.’

Lewis spun on his heel and rushed out to release the news.

Takashi lay back and began prowling the Weave for things that could help his brother. There wasn’t any useful information on the black monster, or anything like it, so he moved onto the more difficult question. Why had Tamsin Grey targeted him? Of all the people in the world she had come to him to take what was in his mind.

Before his brother had cut him off, Takashi had access to all the data the Primacy had. If he was the psis, what could he do with that information? He wondered:
what information do I have that they could use?

He knew everything about the hunt for Pierre Jnr. He knew more than most. He knew how his brother was planning to restrict the psis.
Would that give them a strategic advantage?

Tamsin Grey had said something about Ozenbach. Takashi replayed the footage caught by the eyes in his chambers, the psi leader stepping out from the doll box and him standing there like an idiot. He shivered at the memory of his mind being fiddled. Like a pile of paper, she had flipped through his pages until she found something that pleased her. Then she thanked Geof Ozenbach.

Was there something from Geof the weaver that was important? All he could think of was the contagion map. There hadn’t been much value in it at the time. It was only a projection of Pierre’s potential influence if his control of people extended beyond contact.
Of course it would,
Takashi thought tangentially.
All interactions have lasting effects, but could one such as Pierre reprogram people to permanently act how he wanted
?

Maybe the psis know something I don’t. Maybe they have the missing bits of information that might help them locate Pierre Jnr.

He was looking for something unknown and thus undefined.
The psis might know one thing I don’t know
—
like how many of them there actually are.
It had to be that. Takashi summoned the calculations Geof Ozenbach had created. It may have been created as a way of mapping Pierre Jnr’s potential influence on the population but if he replaced the icon for Pierre Jnr with just the psi symbol ... the map became a manual for the rebellion about how many telepaths they would need to control the majority.

They
knew
how many psis it would take to change the Will.

One of his symbiots flagged a recreation park in Jaipur where a big-headed boy was sitting in the shade of a gigantic baobab tree. The other people in the park didn’t see him. They played at their games and he watched without moving.

Takashi smiled.
They can’t see him, and he can’t see me. I am more invisible than the wind in the trees.

Do you have a plan, Pierre? Or are you just like the rest of us, living the life that is handed to us
...

Takashi deftly overwrote the record, as if no child waited under the tree.

~ * ~

Gomez sat in a waiting room. A girl with a ponytail stood behind the reception desk and looked up periodically to make sure he hadn’t moved. Around him the walls were constructed of tiny aquariums, brick-sized, filled with fluids of different colours, bubbling with aeration.

A young-looking man in a seamless suit came into the room and stood at the reception desk. His arms folded over and he watched Gomez wriggling in his seat.

Gom spied the symbiot that spiralled up from the man’s creaseless suit, around his neck, capping the sides of his skull.

With disgust for the grimy boy, the suited man picked up the piece of paper Gom had filled in with his requirements.

‘What do you want with this? These are not for a boy like you.’

‘I have the cash for them. More than the going rate.’

‘But you wish for there to be no questions, do you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘But for there to be no questions for you, there must be no questions asked of me. Which means a little more care.’

‘Look, I don’t care who knows. Why can’t you just let me have them?’

‘Who are you buying these for, boy? Are you really from the slags? Has Padre Raminez sent you?’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. This is for me. I want to build a symbiot for my family.’

‘And you would know how?’ the salesman scoffed.

Gomez couldn’t answer that one. He wanted to be brave and claim that of course he could, but he had no idea what it involved.

‘With this amount of money you could buy a ready-made model, an anklet say. Would that not be better?’

‘I’m going to build my own,’ Gomez insisted.

‘Not with our products you’re not. Louisa, please have this grime removed and the waiting room sterilised.’

‘But —’ Thick arms were already pulling him up and he was carried bodily out the doors. Soon he was outside on the ground. One of the guards stuffed something in his top pocket.

‘Don’t forget your list.’ He laughed and his pal laughed with him.

Gom stood up, patted off the dirt and looked around for some shade. It was too hot to be exposed. He pulled out his list and found a card had been slipped into his pocket. It was the address of a cantina.

He found it nearby and sat in a booth, quietly hoping to be ignored. He watched unfamiliar foods go past him to other tables, the smells encouraging the saliva in his mouth.

He stood up after ten minutes, but a hand pushed him confidently back down.

One of the guards from the merchant sat down opposite him and picked up the menu, speaking as he swiped through the offerings. ‘Some interesting things on this menu, muchacho.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I’m always hungry. The food here is great.’ He tapped for two orders. ‘I bet you never had a real perrito before. They didn’t have those in the slags when I was there.’

‘You come from the piles?’ Slags was what rich people called them.

‘Sure thing, amigo. Born in and ran from, like you’re doing.’ ‘I’m not running.’

‘You just taking a paseo into the Caucus territory? Nah. You on the way out. Now or later.’

Something arrived. Gomez didn’t know what it was. It steamed even in the pervasive heat. It was a long soft roll of bread, with green chillies, crumbled puff-cheesies and two kinds of salsa on a cylinder of pork mash. The smell nearly made him lose his seat.