Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1) (6 page)

“Er, yeah,” Ursula says.

“Jolly good,” Harlan says.

I go to sleep or something.

7

I used to imagine going to Keris’s office, perhaps to advise her about some important matter or accept an engagement only I could carry out. I never thought it would be to explain a massacre at a party.

Keris lives and works in an airborne assembly that drifts through Centria. Only a few people know which assembly it is and there are no markings or codes to identify it. Like the rest of the enclave, its shape changes often and currently it is a series of linked opaque globes that glow softly in the mid-morning lights. Like Keris herself it is understated but dazzlingly beautiful. Other assemblies and vehicles in the vicinity are actually warships in disguise; I flew over one to get here and glimpsed a cannon three times longer than I am.

We sit at a round table: Keris, Ellery, me, Anton, Balatar, Loren and Gethen Karkarridan. This is the first time I’ve seen Ellery since that night at the Column and she has been uncharacteristically quiet on the ifarm. I try to catch her eye but she ignores me. Her focus is Gethen.

It is said of Gethen Karkarridan that if you give him kilos to invest he will make a profit with them before they even hit his account. He thinks in multiples of a billion. His team is the biggest in Centria and a financial empire in itself. He’s got more money and power than anyone except Keris and it would be tempting to think it’s more than he knows what to do with. However, Gethen will always know what to do with money and power: make more money.

He gets away with it because Ellery turns his exploits into the story of how Centria’s success is really that of Diamond City as a whole. The attack on Ursula’s party was a disaster because it has substantially undermined this narrative. As a result bad weather engulfs us, which means profits are down.

I watch Gethen. I know him, although not well, because he and Ellery work incredibly closely. They have also been lovers for years and almost seem to blend into one being at times. Their combined presence is an enervating counterpoint to Keris’s serenity as they process the city into manageable portions for her so that when she makes a decision it is not only well informed but also apparently prescient.

Gethen is the most streamlined man I’ve ever seen. He’s even taller than Harlan but wiry and rigid instead of muscular. He only ever wears grey. His head is bullet-shaped with hair the colour of metal shaved close to the skull. His movements are methodical; he does not waste one joule of energy and is often very still. There is rarely any emotion in his chilly blue eyes and his teeth, when he does smile, are almost sharp. I worry he will bite off his tongue, not that he says much or even eats anything, as if he subsists on numbers alone.

“The Blanks’ attack was a triumph for them,” Keris says. “Their popularity has risen in inverse proportion to our own.”

Ellery’s eyes are a green blur as she processes information to distil the optimum message. Everyone watches her. She seems to ignore us but I know our expressions and body language will be another factor in her calculations.

“Hn,” she says eventually. “We had no position on the Blanks. Best get one.”

“Will that deflect the bad weather?” Keris says.

“Some,” Ellery mutters.

Keris looks at Anton.

“We’ve traced the people in Centria who support the Sons of the Crystal Mind and dissuaded them from doing so again,” Anton says. “Balatar has done something similar in VIA.”

“People will want to know why we didn’t do that before,” Keris says.

“The Sons of the Crystal Mind are customers as well,” Gethen says.

His soft voice is imbued with total authority. Just hearing it makes me nervous.

“Well that is all right then Gethen, yes?” Loren says and laughs, her eyes bright.

Not for the first time I detect a touch of madness in Loren. Gethen’s gaze clicks over to register her and I realise the strange tension in the room is between these two.

“Anton Jelka,” Bal says, seemingly oblivious. “Tell us what went wrong with the Security operation please.”

“Nothing went wrong with it,” Anton says, unruffled. “Our protocols and yours were aligned. However, if VIA Holdings chooses to sell its assets by the half-hour we can’t be expected to second guess who buys them.”

“Who bought the building?” Keris says.

“The Blanks,” Gethen says. “They didn’t even use a front company. Nothing was flagged because they have never been a threat before.”

“I think everyone was at the wrong party,” I say.

There is an almost physical change in the room. Even Gethen looks surprised. He runs his palms back over his head.

“All the security protocols were set to the building the Blanks bought,” I say.

“Not set by the ifarm?” Gethen says.

“No,” I say. “Only people from Centria have an ifarm. The rest of the city, including VIA Holdings, does without. So if we’d tagged building access to the ifarm then half the guests wouldn’t have got in.”

“After the merger, both groups will use the ifarm,” Anton says.

Loren and Bal glance at each other. Only I seem to notice.

“The Blanks deposited the building they bought and grew another identical one,” I say. “The security codes would have automatically been reset, which is why there was no alert. Buying a building is not in itself a threat VIA sells them all the time.”

“That is true,” Loren says. “It is a key income stream. Our coordinates in the city are second in status only to Centria’s. We will sell an existing building to people who want to trade in close proximity to VIA Holdings and benefit from that status. We then disengage from the area so trade falls away, buy the building back from them at a massively reduced price and keep the difference. Simple, non?”

“We were in the wrong place and never even knew it,” I say. “It’s how so many people who shouldn’t have been there got in.”

I wait for someone to mention Harlan.

“Hn,” Ellery says.

Everyone gets her document on their eye screens at the same time. It’s a set of instructions disguised as a message:

This incident occurred because everyone in Diamond City has the freedom to do, buy and believe what they want.

Centria and VIA Holdings cannot be held responsible for individual choices.

We can, however, learn from them.

Both companies discourage support for the Sons of the Crystal Mind and indeed have never encouraged it.

We digest the words and nobody questions them. They are going to underpin every statement made by both companies whenever the subject of the party comes up, which Ellery will ensure won’t be often.

“The Blanks clearly have a range of uniquely marketable skills,” Gethen says. “We can get a database together to indicate which ones…”

“…and base any future support for them on that,” Keris says. “But not too quickly. We don’t want to look like we are reacting positively to an attack on us.”

“What about the guests who died?” I ask.

“Yours weren’t they?” Ellery asks Loren.

Her voice is uncharacteristically even, with all emotion and nuance removed.

“Yes,” Loren says with her little smile. “It is not important.”

There’s an odd pause, which Balatar takes as a cue.

“What happened reveals another problem: we are seen as being out of touch with the rest of Diamond City,” he says.

Ellery glares at him and I’m tempted to join her. After Bal’s terrible behaviour I have avoided all contact with him. However, I think his statement is accurate.

“Yes,” I say.

Bal looks at me and I sense a connection.

“I’ve got some ideas about that,” I say. “I’ll talk to you about them Ellery.”

Ellery nods and Keris gets up. Everyone else does the same and there is a murmur of pleasantries and farewells as the table and chairs sink into the floor.

Anton is first out of the door, then Ellery and Gethen. I go to follow and catch Keris’s eye. She shakes her head slightly so I stay where I am.

“Balatar,” Keris says.

Bal looks at Loren, who twitches an annoyed eyebrow at him and then walks out. Bal reluctantly turns back, regards Keris and tries to ignore me. Keris waits. Bal swallows, glances at me and then back at Keris.

“You used Charity as a shield,” Keris says. “A human shield.”

Bal stares at Keris. She doesn’t seem to do anything other than look at him neutrally but Bal is terrified and I can understand why. With the others you can guess what they might do but not Keris. She could be about to open a door beneath Bal’s feet and watch him plummet for a kilometre or she might be about to hug him. Bal gulps.

“Yes,” he says.

There is a long pause.

“I don’t know what to say,” he manages.

It comes out as a literal truth rather than an indication of embarrassment. He turns to me.

“Charity, I am sorry. It was… weak of me. I didn’t think. I am- I imagine that I am… important somehow and that you… you wouldn’t… mind?”

“She minds,” Keris says. “I mind.”

“Of course, of course. She has done… such a good job. You should be proud of her Keris and reward her.”

Keris appears able to mould the atmosphere at will. Now, for example, the room seems freezing even though I am not cold.

“Never, ever tell me what to do,” she says.

“I- of course,” says Bal. “I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Get out,” Keris says.

Bal seems unable to move. Finally, he backs off, turns and exits like someone remembering how to use their legs.

Keris looks at me, the violet eyes gazing steadily into mine.

“How are you?” she asks.

“Oh, fine,” I say.

And at that moment it’s true.

“Good,” she says.

I know it’s time to go but I want to stay. Instead I put out my hand. Keris looks at it for a moment, then spreads her palm theatrically and puts it in mine. We shake firmly. I turn and leave.

I feel like I could do anything.

8

I lie between Mum and Ursula on the bed at Mum and Dad’s. We speak in whispers.

“Are you going to call him then?” Ursula says.

“Do you think I should?”

“Yes. It’s about time you got laid.”

I punch her arm.

“Sexual frustration is making you attempt a pathetic form of violence,” Ursula says. “Mum, what do you think? Hm. Hm. Yes. Mum agrees.”

“Oh right,” I say.

“She does. I can read her mind because I am her real daughter instead of someone else’s crappy cast-off.”

I scream in mock outrage and climb on top of Ursula.

“How dare you!” Ursula yells, “I am the fucking People’s Princess you bint!”

“You are out of order!” I shout.

“We only got you so I could have something to play with and you were cheaper than an autopony.”

“But you had an autopony!”

“Because you were rubbish!” Ursula says. “You just sat and thought all the time! Now get off before I give you a proper slapping.”

“You being such an accomplished slapper.”

“Yeah,” she says.

We giggle at the same time and then I get off. Ursula rolls over and looks at Mum. After a moment, she gently pinches Mum’s nose, lets go and then pinches it again.

“Silly Mummy,” she says.

When she rolls back again there are tears in her eyes.

“You only get one life Charity,” she says softly.

“I know.”

“Do you? Mum worked like mad and look where it got her.”

I feel Mum’s silent presence without looking.

“You should do something that isn’t career,” Ursula says, “which let’s face it is easier than having a real life.”

“It’s not easy!”

“It is for you,” she says. “You work directly for Ellery Quinn at what, twenty-three years old?”

“Hmm.”

“Then you go to meetings with Keris Veitch who personally whips my beloved on your behalf…”

“That was satisfying.”

“You’re being groomed for big things my girl.”

“I’ll call Harlan tomorrow,” I say.

“Call him now.”

“All right.”

“Go out with him now.”

“All right!”

She looks at me with one eyebrow raised.

“It will probably be outside Centria,” I say.

“And?” Ursula says.

“I’m still shaky from the other night.”

“So is he most like. You both need a nice cuddle.”

“I feel a bit unwell.”

“Call him or I will,” Ursula says.

She’s got that hungry look.

“Okay,” I say hurriedly.

I scan the Aer.

“That’s odd.”

“What?” Ursula says.

“There’s nothing about him, only his name.”

“Get on with it.”

I smooth my hair nervously and call Harlan. As the ifarm links the call to his Aerac my heart beats louder and harder, louder and harder. I get up dizzily and pace the small area left by the diamond security shroud.

When Harlan doesn’t reply I look at Ursula and shrug tightly. There’s no left-message box on so after a couple of minutes I end the call and sit on the bed, relieved and disappointed.

“Aha!” Ursula says.

I stare at her blankly.

“Coordinates for somewhere called New Runcton just popped up next to his name,” she says. “And a time.”

“What time?”

“7.15pm.”

“That’s in forty minutes,” I say.

“You’d better take the train.”

I look down at my blue suit.

“Should I gif another outfit-?”

“No!”

I glance at the door.

“Run Charity!”

“Right,” I say.

Ursula gets up and puts her arms around me.

“Not as good as an autopony,” I mumble into her shoulder.

“That autopony was a bastard,” she says and kisses my forehead.

She lets go and shoves me gently. I turn and run from the room before I change my mind.

**

As I walk through Centria’s great doorway I get the familiar prickly sense of being followed. It will be for my protection and I should be used to it but today the Security presence makes me feel like I’m doing something stupid, something wrong. My own desires seem trivial against a backdrop of conspiracy and fear.

I feel myself stop walking. I can’t forget Mum just lying there or the unanswered call to Dad. My parents blend in memory and imagination to form a single entity whose features are indistinct but who radiates love like warmth. I remember the Harvest Days and the bubbles and toys and stars and rows and food and hugs and… and…

People and vehicles whirl brightly around me as they would whether I was there or not. I breathe once, twice, think of Ursula and think of Keris. Unexpectedly, it’s the thought of Gethen Karkarridan that gets me moving; his quiet determination, his ruthlessness.

I buy a ticket to New Runcton and start to walk again. My steps increase in speed. They take me along the road from Centria and through a broad, high arch in the wall of the surrounding chamber.

I emerge in the train terminal, which is another hollow sphere whose underside is a few hundred meters or so from the exterior of Centria. The terminal’s fifty-six train tubes are spread equidistantly over its surface to reach every part of Diamond City. Each tube has a platform like a shelf beside it and I head for the nearest, where the train seems to wait for me alone. It’s a series of spherical carriages, each with its own opening into the carrier tube and two decks connected by small elevators. An indicator flickers over my vision to indicate which carriage is mine; I get on and feel strangely elated.

The lower deck is empty, with four quadrants of seats that face inwards. I choose one on the outside edge and settle into it. A chime sounds; the portals in the carrier tube close themselves with walls that grow automatically out of the floor and the door seals retract. For a moment the train hangs in the vacuum tube and then it starts to move, quickly reaching terrific speed. The opaque carriage walls allow sufficient light through to let me know I’m moving but not enough to make me motion sick.

New Runcton is on a different floor to Centria so after a while the train enters a tube that angles up, although the carriage remains level. My carriage then fires off from the rest of the train into the gentle curve of a circular route.

Now I am underway I feel calm. Is it the fixed nature of the journey that gives me this curious sense of inevitability?

Soon the carriage slows under a vertical connection, through which it immediately rises like an elevator. Light streaks down around me until eventually the train eases to a stop. The doors connect with the carrier tube and I walk through the resulting short corridor out into New Runcton.

The place has got nothing going for it. In an insignificant part of MidZone, it’s a crossroads formed by a series of units that are part commerce and part residential. A sign swings on a post even though there is not, never has been and never will be a breeze here. The sign says NEW RUNCTON with misguided civic pride.

The architecture barely qualifies as such and is not so much poor as mean. The determination of the residents to avoid every interesting building patent suggests an utter hatred of beauty.

Cubic or rectangular buildings have been grown along either side of the crossroads. Others overhang or are squeezed in behind them regardless of how absurd the result looks. Instead of utilising space in a sensible or creative way, everyone here has done their own thing to maximise their allocated area. The mess feels oppressive, as if this is where ambition comes to die.

A couple of children play quietly on a patio and an old man stares at me with open hostility from a narrow porch. He wears the remains of a uniform and his left arm is withered. After a moment, he goes inside a dwelling not much broader than he is. Soon the children run into their house too. Although the settlement now looks deserted I know I’m being watched. In Centria the surveillance is functional; here I feel judged.

The ceiling is very high and the dimming day lights reveal New Runcton’s only redeeming feature: the sense above me of an actual open night sky. The train’s carrier tube glows softly as it rises out of the ground and disappears into the darkness. The doors close and the carriage shoots up silently to leave the area eerily still.

Another carriage arrives in the tube. Two Centrian Security officers, a man and a woman, emerge self-consciously and try to look like they haven’t followed me. I know them both vaguely and there isn’t anywhere they can hide. The man shrugs. I laugh and give them a little wave.

There is no way Harlan lives here. I start to walk and reach the centre of the crossroads, where I look up at the sign and then at a star. Wait, a
star?
A moving star? It swoops down low behind the two officers so they don’t see it until it’s almost on top of us.

It isn’t a star, it’s Harlan on a flybike. I’m used to seeing vast floating assemblies but that flybike is so huge it shouldn’t be airborne. The thing is a brutal commingling of black and chrome with an exostructure of dazzling white lights. They pulse over its surface like an energy field holding the entire unlikely mass together.

Harlan approaches too fast to land, like he’s going to attack. He is already between me and the guards and blocks them with the flybike’s broad underside as he leans over. He flies a metre above the floor and comes straight at me, his left arm outstretched to encircle my waist. I feel his muscles lock and suddenly the soles of my shoes are skimming over the diamond road. I glimpse the two guards, who have produced their guns but can’t shoot in case they hit me. The male guard waves his arms frantically while the female speaks, apparently to herself but more likely to Security Control.

The bike rolls back into an upright position and all its lights go off. I look down at my legs as they hang over the rushing dark and sense rather than see movement as the bike rolls to the right. I seize a warm surface that rises and falls and realise I’ve been swung up behind Harlan. My thighs brush either side of the saddle as if I’m drifting in the air and I clamp them together. The saddle is absurdly wide and my legs don’t seem long enough. There are no protective restraints.

Putting both arms around Harlan I press my cheek against his back and breathe him in. His aroma is a fixed point in this wildness and I tighten my grip. The wedge of his upper body tapers down to a narrow waist, where ridges of muscle make it a beautiful landscape of its own.

We have left New Runcton far behind, the way I suspect most people do, and another part of MidZone shines ahead. We could be in outer space as we fly towards a distant galaxy, boiling with the power to change everything.

“Charity!”

Anton Jelka has called me.

“I’m all right Anton,” I say without moving my cheek from Harlan’s back. “I’m following a lead.”

“Charity, we follow leads. You just tell us about them.”

“I’ll let you know if anything goes wrong,” I say. “But… nothing will go wrong. Goodbye now.”

I break the connection and look up.

Multi-coloured light silhouettes Harlan and streams off him in all directions. We descend and fly through diamond canyons whose bases vanish into hazy fluorescence kilometres below. The buildings are crude compared to Centria, but what they lack in sophistication they make up for in sheer size. One even has a train tube through it.

Harlan flies down at a steep angle towards a spindle that glows acid green in the distance. I feel our height for the first time and clutch him tighter.

Unlike Centria, all the light here is advertising. Unused to the constant war of blinding images I squeeze my eyes shut but that only enhances the sound, which is like the amplified scream of a million lunatics who each thinks he knows what I want. Just as it reaches a crescendo it stops but the silence feels even more aggressive and penetrating.

The bike tilts beneath me and I open my eyes. The spindle has resolved into a circular platform below and Harlan drops us straight down towards it. The great buildings rise on every side, disappearing into the garish dark above. Their brightness is muted now and I realise a damper has blocked out the advert noise.

The bike lands with a bump that goes from my underneath to the top of my head. Reluctantly I let go of Harlan, who swings his long legs off the flybike to land in a single motion. I jump off too and stand beside him.

“Good club this,” he says.

I look up at him and smile. We both start to walk at the same time.

The roof of the building is a circular platform thrust up into the bright chaos of the MidZone night. Shorn of their gruelling racket, the adverts streak and pulse. Some of them literally fight each other, like huge characters made of light. Assemblies and ships, also adverts, crash through them and the whole relentless process begins again. Endlessly evolving illumination floods the platform and the fifty or so vehicles parked there throw odd shadows that stretch and turn like dark fingers pointing at a moving target.