Skyfall (4 page)

‘Good morning, gentlemen. I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to leave.'

‘Of course, Dr Mann.'

The men were gone in seconds.

‘If I didn't know better, Father, I'd think you enjoyed that,' Janil observed dryly.

They pulled on a couple of flight suits from the clean locker.

‘Helmets too?'

‘Of course.'

Janil had just locked his into place when, with a resonant, high-pitched hum, the flyer rose up sharply and threaded through the portal, which immediately began closing behind it. Janil and his father stepped back out into the hangar as the pilot hovered slowly across to his place in the line, lowered the flyer onto its three stumpy legs, and shut down power. Slowly, the whine died away to silence.

‘Well, Janil.' Even through the suit com, his father's voice was trembling with barely concealed excitement. ‘Shall we go have a look at her?'

Lari crossed the common to the hub, joined the allocation queue and, when it was his turn, waved his wristband over the destination plate.

‘Dome 750 South.'

The reader chimed and he moved across to stand with the small group waiting for a southbound lift. As he joined them, a middle-aged woman nudged the man she was standing beside and Lari caught the almost imperceptible nod she threw in his direction.

He knew that gesture well. He'd been living with it as long as he could remember.

Look, that's Dernan Mann's youngest son. He's a copygen.

Lari often wondered why his parents had decided to go against protocol and have two sons instead of the mandatory son and daughter, but on the one occasion he'd nerved to ask, his father had been evasive.

‘It was our decision, Larinan, and not a matter you need concern yourself with.'

But in Port these things mattered, if not to his father then certainly to everyone else. All his childhood, Lari had been aware of the whispers, the comments whenever the four of them were seen in public together.

‘See, if you're Dernan Mann you can break whatever protocols you like'

‘Must be nice to have that sort of power'

‘Most of us would end up as shifties if we did that'

And when Lari had attended school or rec, the other kids reminded him constantly of his outlaw position in society with a simple nickname.

‘Pass it here, sister.'

‘Get lost, sister.'

‘Sister.'

‘Sister.'

‘Sister …'

As he'd gotten older, the taunts had become more whispered. His father rose higher and higher in DGAP, his mother shone brilliantly and then disappeared, and Janil, the real brother in the family, began his own meteoric rise in her place.

But the resentment hadn't died; just gone underground.

That's Larinan Mann. That's Dernan Mann's copygen.

The strong resemblance between him and his father didn't help, either: the same dark eyes, the same long face and fair colouring.

When his mother was there it had been easier. She'd understood. She'd always been there to stroke his hair when she caught him crying into his pillow, to squeeze his hand in silent sympathy when a well-pitched whisper floated out of a crowd, to wipe the blood from his knees and the tears from his eyes.

And in the early mornings, when the low horizon was only just beginning to glow, she would return from her own work, wake her youngest son and lead him, still sleep-addled and dozy, down through the machine-crowded maintenance level and out into the sunrise, where the two would stand silently, watching the morning. Lari's teeth would chatter in the chill wind that rippled around the circular balcony.

‘Everything happens for a reason, Lari,' she'd whisper to him in the worst, darkest moments. ‘Everything. Even you. You're more special than you know, not just to your father and me but to everyone. So, when they point and whisper and tease and poke, don't ever give them the satisfaction of responding. Because, trust me, darling, the day will come when they'll all look at you and say “Thank the Sky for Larinan Mann”.'

It hadn't happened yet, Lari thought. The woman in the queue was still staring and Lari met her eyes levelly. ‘Is there something you want?'

The woman quickly looked away, embarrassed.

A couple of moments later their lift arrived. He slipped into a chair exactly opposite the woman and her partner, enjoying their discomfort as they both studiously avoided looking in his direction, instead concentrating all their attention on the newspanel.

It was exactly the sort of behaviour his mother had warned him against, but even so, Lari couldn't suppress a small twinge of satisfaction.

The other passenger, a man wearing a DGAP jacket, slipped into the seat beside Lari.

‘Morning.'

Finally letting his stare slide away from the discomfited couple, Lari nodded back. ‘Hi.' He vaguely recognised the man. He'd probably seen him at a dome social function or something.

They gripped their handholds and the maglift dropped. Lari felt a slight lurch in his stomach every time the lift changed from a vertical to a horizontal shaft, but like all citizens of Port it was a sensation he knew so well that it didn't even register in his conscious mind.

‘Off to class?'

‘No.' Lari shook his head. ‘I'm finished.'

‘A bright one, eh?' The DGAP man raised an eyebrow. ‘You go through the advanced school?'

‘Of course.'

‘Figures …' The man nodded. ‘You're Dernan Mann's youngest, aren't you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Good to see the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I imagine you'll get a research placement before a lot longer, then?'

‘I guess.'

‘What are you hoping for? Genetics, Fieldwork, Sequencing? Any ideas?'

‘Actually …' Lari sighed inwardly. He hated this discussion. ‘No. Still making my mind up.'

‘Very wise.' Another nod. ‘Have a good think, that's what I reckon. You don't want to make the wrong choice at this point. Not with your prospects. I worked with your brother for a while last year. Brilliant bloke. You two planning on doing anything together?'

‘No,' replied Lari, aware of the other couple listening intently to every word. ‘Janil and I have … different interest areas.'

‘Pity. What a team that'd make, eh? You two and your father. All the Mann boys working together. That'd move things along, no doubt about it. Still, as long as you're in the family field somewhere, I suppose. What's your field of expertise, then?'

Lari couldn't help himself.

‘Art.'

He stared at the man, daring him to ask.

Art?'

‘Painting. Sculpture. That sort of stuff.'

‘Oh.' The lift slipped into another hub as the man digested this.

‘Wouldn't have thought there's a lot of call for artists in DGAP,' he finally ventured.

‘There isn't. That's the point.'

‘Ah.' Another pause. ‘Genetics not your thing, then?'

‘Obviously not.'

That killed the conversation and the only sounds were the throbbing hum of the lift's magnetic resonators and the low murmur of the newspanel. The current story was about security cracking a terrorist cell that had been planning some minor act of vandalism.

‘Bloody shifties,' the man muttered.

Lari didn't respond.

… The city Prelate this morning praised the security personnel who put themselves in harm's way to protect the wider community …

‘Makes you feel better though, doesn't it? Knowing security are right on top of those bastards.'

‘I guess so.'

‘Absolutely.' The man hesitated as though making his mind up. ‘So, you're hoping for a placement outside the family field, then?' His tone was carefully casual.

‘If they make me. Don't care, really.' He knew that his father would be furious if this conversation got back to him, but right at that moment he didn't care. Beside him, the DGAP man was looking thoughtful.

‘You know, son, I could probably find a position for you with me, in maintenance. It's not research, I know, but at least you'd still be in DGAP …'

‘Thanks, but no.'

After what seemed an age, the maglift finally surged upwards again, then slowed.

Dome 832 South. Commercial.

‘This is my stop.' The man rose. ‘Nice talking to you, mate. Say “hi” to your dad for me, eh? Ander Gunt.'

‘I will.'

‘Thanks. Have a good day, now.'

‘You too.'

Ander Gunt stepped out, the doors closed, and the lift dropped again.

Voices. Detached, cold voices from the cold sky.

‘Temperature?'

‘Acceptable.'

'Blood pressure?'

‘Acceptable.'

'Respiratory function?'

‘Slight impairment. Nothing to cause concern.'

‘Cortex activity?'

‘Acceptable.'

The words mean nothing. The voices betray nothing. She gets no sense of them being real. They're spirits, is what they are. They're the night spirits that Ma Lee used to warn her of. They're wraiths of the nightvault. There's no connection behind them. No trace of the earthmother.

Once, she tried to answer the voices, hut her body wouldn't respond. Her voice wouldn't work. Only her mind, trapped in the cold, formed the questions …

Where am I?

Where is Jani?

‘Muscle response?'

‘Acceptable.'

‘Bone density?'

‘Acceptable. For a subject.'

‘Acceptable …'

‘Acceptable …'

She falls …

Janil was working the inscan and calling the results, which his father then entered into the data manager. On his terminal, the standard list for subject admission scrolled on relentlessly.
This is the first time we've used this in years,
Mann thought. In fact, he recalled, the last time they worked through this particular protocol was with the mother of the girl now lying tranqued on the podium.

‘Cortex activity?'

‘Acceptable.'

Dernan Mann shook his head. He didn't like to remind himself about that last one. Not after everything that happened afterwards. Bringing her in had marked the beginning of the bad times – Eyna's obsession, Larinan's birth, the increase in subject decline – all that and everything that flowed from it was put into motion the night they pulled that last girl out of her stinking hovel in Woormra.

‘Muscle response?'

‘Acceptable.'

Mann watched his eldest son work, wondering if the boy had any idea how much this was going to change things. For all of them. The entire Mann family. Now that the excitement of discovery was wearing off, the enormity, the gut-wrenching
significance
of that skinny little sack of bones lying on the table was just starting to set in and Dernan Mann had to work to ignore a slight queasiness.

Janil reached out and made a small adjustment to the IR-gain and the scanner chattered new data straight back at him.
He's so good at this,
Dernan Mann thought to himself.
Better than I ever was.

‘Bone density?'

‘Acceptable, for a subject.'

‘Ocular sensitivity?'

‘Acceptable.'

Watching Janil reminded Dernan Mann so much of himself at that age – young, brilliant, self-assured. But with Janil, of course, there'd always been something underneath. There'd always been the rage, the anger.

‘Muscle density?'

‘Acceptable.'

‘Good, then.' Dernan signed off and pushed his interface aside. ‘Everything pretty much in the green. A textbook recovery.'

For a couple of minutes the two men stood looking at the girl stretched out on the padded sleep mat.

‘It's incredible, don't you think, son?'

‘What is?'

‘Her. Finding her after all this time.'

‘It was always a possibility.'

‘But never a probability. You knew that as well as I did.'

‘We'd better get the inscan out of the chamber.' Janil said.

‘And ourselves, too.'

‘We'll be fine. It's barely first shift. The sun'll only just be above the low horizon. Besides, the suits should …'

‘These daysuits haven't been used in years, Janil.'

For a moment he thought his son was going to argue, but Janil clearly decided it wasn't worth the bother. He was like his mother that way.

‘Fine, then.' Janil picked up the inscan and headed for the lock. ‘Let's go.'

They'd left the inner door open. With nobody to monitor them from obs, it was the only safe way. With the two of them and the inscan, it was a tight squeeze. Once the gas exchangers had run down, Janil opened the outer hatch and they stepped into the locker room beyond.

‘Phew.' Janil wasted no time pulling his helmet off. ‘Haven't worn anything this heavy in a while.'

‘It's better than the alternative.'

‘True.'

They started removing their heavy, shielded daysuits, occasionally having to assist one another with the more bulky sections.

‘So what are we going to do with her?'

Dernan threw Janil a sharp look.

‘You have to ask?'

‘I'm curious. Do you really think that's the last great hope lying in there on the table? Are you prepared to throw your whole reputation away in a gamble on that … girl?'

‘It's not a gamble if there's no other option, Janil. It's scientific logic. When you have no other course of action open to you, all you can do is take whatever path is presented. You of all people should know that.'

‘Our chances are slim though, you must admit.'

‘They're better than they were yesterday.'

‘I guess.' Janil looked unconvinced. ‘So what happens now? Do we make an announcement? Get the webbers in to record it all for posterity?'

‘Sky, no! The last thing we want is word of this getting out. If the citizens learn that we've got her, the next thing they'll want to know is
why.
And that information …'

‘… would set the city on fire,' Janil finished for him. ‘So what, then?'

‘I'll tell the Prelate, right away. We'll meet later today, I imagine, and sort out a plan of attack.'

‘Will I be involved?'

‘Of course.'

By this time the two had made their way up the tight staircase into obs. Below, through the clearcrete windows, the girl lay on her white pedestal in the exposure chamber, looking like a darkened corpse. Dernan Mann crossed to the window and gazed down for a few seconds, then turned to face his elder son. There was no other way to do this and probably no better time, he decided.

‘I'll also be bringing your brother into the project. As of today.' For a moment Mann thought his son was going to laugh. Janil's mouth twitched into a sort of half-smile, amused and slightly incredulous. His mother used to do the same thing. The smile quickly faded, though.

‘You're joking, right?'

‘No, Janil.' Mann shook his head. ‘At the same time as I inform the Prelate of our recovery of this subject, I'll be requesting that she organise placement of Larinan to this project, to work with the two of us.'

‘That's ridiculous. He doesn't know the first thing about subgenetics. He doesn't even like the field …'

‘Calm down, Janil. Of course I realise that Larinan hasn't ever demonstrated an interest in our family's field of expertise, but that doesn't mean he won't.'

‘I could find you a hundred allocation-level students better suited to this project than the copygen …'

‘This isn't open to dabate, Janil.' The rebuke stopped his son midsentence. He'd spoken more harshly than he'd intended, as always seemed to happen when he and Janil discussed Larinan. ‘Listen, son …'

‘Forget it, Father.' Janil turned on his heel and strode out into the security lock which led from obs into the main project lab. ‘I'm not even interested, you know that? Do whatever you want.'

Dernan sighed as he watched his son go. He'd hoped that perhaps, with the excitement of finding the subject, Janil would be a little more open-minded, but when it came to Larinan, Janil had a chip the size of central on his shoulder. It was times like this that Dernan Mann wished he still had Eyna here to talk to. She was always the one who was good with the boys; she seemed to know how they worked, how they thought. Dernan had spent far too many hours alone in his lab and now felt like he understood the Subjects better than his own sons. Even Janil, who'd taken up where Eyna had left off, followed him into the family field, worked alongside him for five years and who had a mind and intellect to rival his own, could turn into a stranger in the blink of an eye.

Alone, Mann made his own way out of the lock, through the main lab towards his office. The lab was starting to bustle now, as project workers and analysts arrived and began firing up their various terminals and equipment. He ignored the curious stares that were directed his way when a couple of other scientists noticed him emerge from the little-used exposure chamber. He'd have to put out some misinformation to explain his and Janil's presence in there for the near future.

In his office, he stared out through the clearcrete, where the city was waking, glittering and coming to life. The domes were all dimming down for the day, reflecting the brightening blue of the sky as a shimmering blur. He could just make out his own dome, 3327 North, out to the west, standing well above the surrounding forest of stems, shafts and domes that made up the upper-middle layers. From down here, against the enormous blue, home looked tiny. The stem upon which his dome was perched seemed insubstantial, a thread of plascrete holding up a dome the size of a small town. It looked like it might blow away in the first strong wind.

It wouldn't, though. It was only angle and distance that made it appear so. Dernan Mann knew that the stem holding up 3327 North was as solid and unyielding as the rest of them – shielding power conduits, recyc piping and maglift shafts, just as they had for a millennium, since mankind had finally left the polluted, dangerous, flooded surface of the planet and taken to the air.

But still, seen from this perspective it looked so very … fragile.

It all did.

It all was.

Turning away from the window, Mann crossed to his desk. It took only a couple of moments to get through his coded access sequence and punch in the appropriate number.

‘Prelature.' The voice was abrupt, busy, officious.

‘Can I have vis, please?'

‘Name?'

‘Doctor Dernan Mann.'

There was a pause on the other end. Then his terminal flicked to life. The receptionist looked exactly the same as he sounded.

‘Doctor Mann, good morning. How may I be of assistance?'

‘I would like to speak to the Prelate, please.'

‘I'm afraid that's quite impossible this morning, Doctor. The Prelate is extremely busy. I can book you a vid slot for tomorrow, second shift, or the following—'

‘You do know who I am, don't you?' Dernan cut the assistant off and directed his coldest, most detached glare into the terminal.

‘Of course, Doctor.'

‘Then I'm sure you realise that I wouldn't simply call and demand to speak to the Prelate
without a very good reason.'

For a moment the man's face was wracked with indecision. Then he clearly came to the conclusion that it was worth risking the wrath of the Prelate to avoid that of the head of DGAP.

‘I'll put you through right away, Doctor.'

‘Thank you.' Mann allowed the receptionist a tight smile before the screen flicked into a holding display for a few seconds, then the Prelate herself appeared.

‘Doctor Mann. To what do I owe the pleasure of such an early call?'

‘Good morning, Madam Prelate. Can I assume that this channel is secure?'

‘As secure as any com channel can be.'

No, not necessarily,
she meant. ‘In that case, I should like to speak to you personally at the first available opportunity, preferably here at DGAP.'

‘Is this important, Doctor? I'm afraid I have a very busy schedule today, and—'

‘Madam, how many times have I called you in the early hours of first shift and summoned you to DGAP?'

For a long moment the Prelate stared though the terminal, with that famous gaze which made you feel as though your whole soul was on display.

‘I shall see you in a little over an hour, Doctor. Will that be sufficient?'

‘Perfectly, Prelate.'

‘Will that be all?'

‘Actually, I do have one more favour to ask. Would you be able to put in a request to the appropriate parties that my son Larinan be placed to my department, effective immediately?'

The Prelate's left eyebrow twitched slightly upwards.

‘That would be your
youngest
son?'

‘The same, Madam.'

‘Do you know, Doctor Mann' – the old woman directed a cold smile at him – ‘I do believe that meeting you this morning might well turn out to be worth cancelling my appointments for. I shall see you soon.'

The terminal went blank and Dernan Mann sat back in his chair.

Now all he could do was wait.