Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1) (3 page)

Somehow I know it’s all right to stare at Keris even though as Chief of Centria she pretty much rules the world, what’s left of it. She’s got a mouth that always smiles, its corners turned up, with an ironic touch to her delicate lips. We sell thousands of patents to women who want the same effect although with Keris it is natural. The depth in her violet eyes speaks of tension between a terrible far away realm and this place, this moment.
I have seen such things
, she seems to say,
and no one can understand them except perhaps you
.

Like everyone, I’ve heard the legends. Some are quantifiably real, like when she led the Centrian army from the front against the New Form Enterprise during her victory in the Ruby War. I’ve seen footage of her flying her cruiser right into the throat of battle as cannons blasted ships apart either side. Other stories seem more suspect. One tells how she founded the Centria we know from the broken empire of Titan, the original dictator of Diamond City, using a single patent for dancing place mats. Still others, like the fact she personally created the first Blanks, may be true but probably aren’t.

As I quietly dither she walks towards me. Feeling important yet absurd I look around self-consciously but Ursula and Ellery have gone. I turn back to find Keris there. She doesn’t look much older than I am although there is a gravity to her that suggests she has always existed, like an element.

“Charity,” she says.

Her voice is higher than I expected and there seem to be other voices hidden inside it, one for each person she will ever talk to. Keris extends a hand, expression calm as if every moment is a triumph for her.

“I’m Keris Veitch,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you at last.”

I take her hand. Her grip is delicate but strong, like the filigree cables that hang gigantic assemblies over Centria.

“Hello Keris. Thank you. For coming.”

Her expression hardens as she looks over my head at Mum and Dad’s house.

“I’m sorry to hear what happened to Connor and Julie. I’m very, very angry about it. I want you to know that we will… deal with those responsible.”

I gaze up at the warships hanging in the sky outside our family home. Keris and I look back at each other at the same time.

“Good,” I say.

She smiles.

“Walk with me,” she says.

So I walk down the path I played on as a little girl with the ruler of the world.

“How are arrangements for the wedding?” Keris asks.

“Good,” I say again, “very good.”

“I hear you’re doing well,” Keris says.

Feeling dizzy I go to say something about arrangements but what comes out is:

“What was the mission Mum and Dad were on?”

Keris turns to me as if the question was entirely reasonable rather than an outrageous demand to breach security.

“They found the New Form Enterprise,” she says.

I stare at her.

“Connor was tracking them through the Outer Spheres,” Keris says. “One man with his skills was less conspicuous than a whole squad. It would seem the NFE found out and attacked Connor and Julie. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

“What do I do?”

“What you’re doing; the merger with VIA Holdings will make Centria even stronger. In the meantime, we are using all our resources to save Connor and Julie.”

“Thank you Keris.”

“Thank me when they’re back with you.”

Keris smiles almost shyly and then leans over to kiss my cheek. She turns and walks back to her cruiser while my face tingles where her smiling lips touched it. A moment later she’s gone and the space over Mum and Dad’s is as empty as it was when I was young.

3

I look at Ursula’s naked body, aware that most people would pay a lot of kilos to see what I’m seeing now. It would be worth it. Somehow, she is perfect without following any of the rules. Her skin is the colour of cream and there is no mottling anywhere. Her breasts and her bottom seem disproportionately large, to the extent that she should have a body like Ellery’s to handle them but she hasn’t. Instead, she’s got these long legs that taper to slender ankles and tiny feet that successfully defy balance, gravity and other minor considerations. Her stomach is flat without being very muscular and her waist is narrow although not grotesquely so. Dark hair forms a soft, inviting shadow between the sweet curves of her hips.

Holographic Ursulas wearing a range of dresses walk across my room past us. The colour and design of each denotes the length of time it will last; the greater the length, the higher the associated status. Some dresses even depict their lifespans, either woven in or stamped on the front. Each dress winks into nothing as Ursula dismisses it. She gets the selection down to three, none of which suit her so I quietly find a better alternative that costs 132 kilos.

“This grey one,” I say.

Ursula scrunches her face slightly.

“Grey,” she says. “Really?”

If I’m going to get that outfit on her I will have to buy it myself. My ifarm account contains 21,300 kilos. I pass my hand through the grey dress hologram and all the others vanish. As my account goes down to 21,168 kilos, the dress grows out of the floor straight onto Ursula. She looks down at it, unconvinced.

“Don’t worry,” I say.

My salon seat grows behind Ursula; she sits and her head sinks into the bulb so it looks like she’s wearing an old-fashioned space helmet. I decide on her makeup; the seed picks up my instructions and sends them to the ifarm, which relays them to the salon. Soon the bulb melts away to reveal its dizzying enhancement of my sister’s beauty: her hair its trademark gleaming dark curtain with an asymmetric fringe and her makeup a series of subtle shades that complement the dress. Ursula gets up and then sways.

Two days have passed since the mysterious attack on Mum and Dad. There has been no change in the situation and no answers have been forthcoming. Ursula and I rely on routines and engagements to get by; tonight for example is another pre-wedding party. We don’t want to go but at least it will pass the time, distracting us from silence and restless, bleak rage. I put my hand on Ursula’s arm. She turns and embraces me tightly.

Suddenly, I want to stay here with her forever. Everyone in Diamond City thinks they love Ursula but none of them love her like I do. We’ve got kilos so the Basis will supply us with food, air and water. We will have each other for company and we will be safe.

Inevitably Ursula lets go and reluctantly so do I. She straightens and becomes the People’s Princess.

“Come on,” she says and walks out.

I look at the salon longingly but there isn’t time for me to use it. Instead I put my chin into the crook of the suit elbow and draw the smart cloth up over my face, which emerges made up in its usual way. Shading modulates my inexplicable light tan, shadow with a subtle green design surrounds my eyes to make the best of them and a pale sheen covers my lips to detract from their fullness and avoid looking tarty.

I head through the door after Ursula. As I hurry along the corridor I clench my hair between my upper and lower right arm and pull it between them. The hair emerges clean and conditioned to rustle down my back in a wavy golden fall.

I run onto the walkway and see Ursula stride ahead of me, the grey dress rippling out behind her. The walkway is thankfully deserted, not that Ursula needs an audience for her seductive swagger. I run to catch up before anyone else appears but just as I reach my sister, Ruben Toro hurries out of a side corridor with the fixed look of someone pretending this is a coincidence.

A respected analyst in Gethen Karkarridan’s feared Centrian Business Division, Ruben used to be a small man. He was proud of his naturally occurring baldness and slightly wonky face, which were endearingly original features amid Centria’s many perfections.

Now, however, he is tall like Ursula.  His hair is thick, dark and cut in a style that Ursula might sport if she was male. Ursula’s unconventional beauty is notoriously hard to replicate, especially in men. The most effective option, which is the one Ruben has chosen, is not an exact match but a variation on a theme. Ursula’s jaw is slightly masculine anyway and Ruben has had this feature emphasised. Ursula’s eyes are striking because of the humour in them as much as their rich hazel colour; again this can’t be copied so instead Ruben has enhanced the slight upturn at the outer edges. His mouth is wantonly kissable and his teeth when he smiles are slightly, maddeningly uneven, like Ursula’s. The unnerving result of Ruben’s surgery is that he looks more like Ursula’s brother than I do her sister.

“Woh!” Ruben says. “Hello Ursula!”

“Hello you scruff,” Ursula says.

She doesn’t break her stride. Ruben is put off-balance but rights himself like an automatic toy and hurries after Ursula. He ignores me but I’m used to that.

“I saw your chat show the other night,” Ruben says.

“Of course you did,” Ursula says. “I was amazing.”

“That chap who supported the Sons of the Crystal Mind; you absolutely tore him a new one. Um,” Ruben swallows nervously. “Do you support the Blanks then?”

If Ursula says yes then Ruben will support the Blanks. If Ursula says no then Ruben will probably join the Sons himself. He is not quite a stalker; he would soon be an ex-employee if he was. Instead, he thinks he’s got a unique link to Ursula, a belief he has in common with most of Diamond City.

“The Blanks are the Blanks,” Ursula says.

She manages to make it sound like an opinion.

“Ah, yes,” Ruben says.

He tries to mull Ursula’s statement over but the glare of her presence has burned away rational thought like a pleasure drug.

“It’s amazing really,” Ruben says, “the Basis I mean. You take how amazing it is for granted; well I do anyway, sometimes.  Do you?”

“Yes,” Ursula says.

“I mean you get used to it being able to grow anything but growing
people
out of the floor? That’s a miracle.”

“Not everyone would agree,” I say.

“No,” Ruben says, looking nervously around, “not everyone. I feel sorry for the Blanks. That’s not patronising is it? I realise some of them did terrible things but that was a long time ago. Maybe it’s because of how they’re, er, made?”

“Being born out of the floor isn’t that different from a natural birth,” I say.

Ruben, pleased to be involved in any sort of conversation with Ursula, is clearly thinking of ways to extend this one.

“I don’t know why everyone isn’t ‘made’ like that,” he says after a moment.

“For a while a lot of people were,” I say. “Armies needed to be created; loyal workers bred. Blanks are no different to anyone else.”

“Apart from not needing a belly button,” Ursula says.

“Yes!” Ruben says.

“Hence ‘Blank’,” I say, “which I always thought was a bit harsh.”

Ursula clears her throat.

“Where are you going?” Ruben says hurriedly.

“Pre-wed party,” Ursula says.

She stops and turns the full force of her charisma on Ruben, who goes so still it’s as if there is no movement in his body at all.

“You do know I’m getting married don’t you?” Ursula says. “We discussed this.”

It’s as if she is asking his permission. She is a kind of genius really.

“Yes,” Ruben says, dazed. “I hope you’ll be… Well, you will be… very… er… you know…”

“Yes I do,” Ursula says. “Take care Ruben.”

We leave him there, as if on a little island of unrequited love.

At the end of the walkway we pass through an arch and emerge onto a wide skywalk suspended over the fourth edge sector. Hanging gardens and audio sculptures send currents of bright energy through the enclave, while huge diamond buildings refract a thousand coloured points and turn the skywalk into a jewelled ribbon that winds into the distance. Assemblies drift above and etch complex silhouettes against the view, which resembles a great silver-backed undulation of scattered light.

The skywalk is full of people, focussed on multiple ifarm demands as they hurry about their business. Ursula’s presence disrupts this controlled flow, which breaks into interesting confusion the moment she appears. Decorum forgotten, the people around us scan Ursula to see if it’s really her; there is then a palpable rise in energy as everyone tries to decide how to react. Some people stare at Ursula, some stand and smile while others pretend she isn’t there, perhaps in the hope that by not bothering her she will notice them out of gratitude.

The People’s Princess absorbs the attention like the professional she is and takes a deep, appreciative breath. A little smile dimples her cheeks. She puts a relaxed arm round my shoulders and looks off into the distance, as if gazing into the future of her astonishing career.

“Let’s fly,” she says.

For the first time today I feel a flicker of excitement. I go in-Aer, which manifests itself as a slight brightening of my vision. Images of flybikes slide from right to left across my view although as we’re in public only I can see them. I choose a smaller flybike than usual so it won’t detract from Ursula. It costs 8,050 kilos; I click BUY. My account reels down to 13,118 and the skeletal frame of the flybike emerges joystick first as if surfacing from a still pool. I climb on and the vehicle starts at my touch.

The flybike has a single long seat and Ursula eases onto it behind me. She rides side-saddle because of the dress, a lovely idea. Almost invisible restraints wrap themselves around our legs to secure us in flight but Ursula still slides her left arm around my waist and squeezes. I think everyone on the skywalk would like to be me at this moment. I key up and we rise from the centre of the crowd to a little cheer. Ursula laughs and waves to the people below. They wave back but are soon out of sight.

We soar through Centria, where gloating parks and gardens tumble bright emerald foliage from one to another. The backbone of Centria rises through the airborne architecture like a huge crystal crown, its vertiginous, ornate spires anchoring barely visible cables that suspend assemblies like pendants in a dazzling sweep. Around the perimeter leap huge fountains, which foam into soft, sweet mist to mask the smooth finality of the diamond ceiling.

The exit from Centria is through a large open chamber that can fill itself with solid diamond in the event of attack. Through the thick wall beyond is a broad, high tunnel; we flit through far above the heads of pedestrians and I angle us up to fly over the top of the enclave.

Centria is like Diamond City in miniature: a diamond sphere that contains many levels and chambers. However, the underground city is encased in solid rock, while Centria is surrounded by another spherical chamber linked to it by eight equidistant diamond roads. They connect to a single broad walkway around Centria’s circumference that makes the enclave look like a smooth diamond version of one of the old ringed planets.

During the Ruby War, the Centrian ring road glowed blindingly under cannon fire from the terror army of the New Form Enterprise. However, the ring road is part of Diamond City’s superstructure, withstanding Earth’s pressure fifty kilometres underground. Unlike buildings and assemblies, no weapon grown by the Basis will work against it although that didn’t stop the NFE from trying.

I grip the joystick tighter as we pass between two support columns and Centria falls away beneath us. Soon we pass into another spherical chamber that encloses Centria like the next layer of an onion, where enormous train tubes linking floor to ceiling fan into blue distance. I weave through them towards a circular exit and glance behind.

Four armed ships follow discretely. They are far enough away to give the impression the People’s Princess is free to do what she wants but close enough to wipe out anyone who tries to cause her trouble.

Ursula moves forward slightly so she can talk directly into my ear.

“What did Keris Veitch want the other day?” she says.

I slow down so I don’t have to shout.

“She didn’t want anything,” I say. “She told me Mum and Dad found the NFE.”

“So the NFE did this?”

“Possibly.”

“Is that what Mum said when she called you?”

“No,” I say. “She said there was something wrong with Centria.”

“What?”

“She didn’t know.”

“Anything else?”

“She said the NFE were not what we thought and to avoid the Sons of the Crystal Mind.”

We fly into the next chamber, where VIA Holdings begins to make its presence felt in a series of blocky buildings and assemblies with none of Centria’s glamour.

“We need a plan,” Ursula says.

“We’ve got one,” I say. “You marry Bal.”

“But-”

“As a result, you and I get much more powerful; then we go after the people who hurt Mum and Dad and mess them up.”