Wyrmhole

by Jay Caselberg

  The dreams were like that; they imposed themselves on his waking consciousness for several minutes after he'd emerged. Just the same way his reality imposed itself on the dreams. In that half-blurred boundary of emergence, sometimes it was hard to distinguish exactly which was which.

  A drop of sweat fell from the tip of his nose on to his thigh and he reached up to wipe at his face again. The sting of salt was in his eyes. He took a moment or two to compose himself, breathing slowly and regularly in an effort to steady his pulse. He used the time to look around the familiar bare walls.

  This was his working room, about a third of the way along the Locality closer to Old than New. It would be about ten full years before he'd have to find another and relocate. Plenty of time. His apartment was closer to Mid and should be safe for about another fifteen years or so. Not that he planned being in the Locality for that long, but it suited him for now, at least until he worked out what the hell he was going to do.

  The Locality was a haven, one of several self-perpetuating urban structures that crept across the landscape by millimeters every week. It took from the ground upon which it lay the components it needed to build itself, constantly renewing and adding new apartments, offices and other dwelling spaces toward New in shapes that were programmed into it. As with everything, it suffered decay. Eventually the lifespan of the tiny pseudo-organic builders ran out, and the walls and streets broke down to be recycled back into the whole, eating up the tail of the Locality near Old, consuming itself at the end. The Locality and structures like it had grown out of the old gated communities. As life became more perilous, and the technology had become available, those with the resources had built the first experimental structures. More and more had flocked to the security of their contained existence, and the environments became larger, first towns, then whole cities. The Locality had been one of the first, it’s immense growth organic as its population grew.

  Jack’s working room lay in an office complex where the rents were cheaper because of their proximity to Old. To be honest, it was more Old than Mid, but it was close enough to the boundary to force the lie. But the location suited him fine; he had no need of the extended permanence to be found toward New.

  Stein looked around the simple room, slotting reality back into his head. The blank walls and mid-height ceiling were a uniform off-white. He kept the room simple on purpose, so he wouldn't be sent off on iconic tangents when emerging from dream state. Paintings, statues, and the like had too much resonance, not that he could afford any of them. Rather, he wanted to define the dream images, note them down before they slipped away from his semi-conscious mind. It could take mere minutes for them to fade. The blankness gave him a canvas on which to paint his dream realities and give them substance without having them confused by the clutter of possessions.

  At least he had something to report to his client now. All he had to do was try and sort out the dream image from what had really been there. For a start, there was the hand. The way it had been apparently severed made him suspect a dream plant, something injected into the dream reality by his subconscious, disconnected from what was really going on, but he couldn't be sure. He worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth again and reached for the water bottle he kept handy by the sleep couch. As he sipped, he sorted and classified the images one by one. Then he reached for his handipad, thumbed it into life and started making notes.

  The ring was interesting. The Ouroboros symbol had significance, he was sure. The snake eating its own tail was a classic archetypal symbol — something easily found inside dreams — but countless societies and organizations throughout the ages had used it. He wondered what it might mean in the true context of the dream. There was power there. Maybe too much. It would link to the snake shapes sliding out from the mine walls as well. It was a starting point. He picked up the rock shard from the mine on Dairil III and hefted it thoughtfully in one hand. Warburg had been right. He had been given just about all he needed with that little chip of stone.

  He still had a problem though. The mining crew had disappeared, that much was clear, but he already knew that from the contract. That's why Warburg had hired him. The fact that Warburg had hired Jack Stein rather than some more mainstream investigator smacked of something less legitimate though. He could understand them wanting to keep the disappearance quiet, but there was more going on here. He needed to work out why a large corporation like Outreach would approach a two-bit investigator like Jack Stein in the first place. He had no illusions about his status in the Locality’s scheme of things. The call had come out of nowhere, and he hadn’t really questioned it at the time. The whole deal was far too good to pass up.

  He’d met Warburg at the slick offices up in New. The hard-faced corporate executive with his slick designer suit took him through what they needed. They’d had a mining crew out on the world, Dairil III, somewhere out of the mainstream traffic lanes. Without explanation, the crew had disappeared. Travel to the planet would have taken months, but as Jack Stein was a Psychic Investigator, maybe they could cut through some of the time needed to solve the case. Time was of the essence and there was pressure from on high to come up with an explanation soon.

  Jack had taken him through his abilities, explained the dreams, the psychic clues. All throughout, Warburg had sat, fixing him with a flat expressionless stare. When Jack had told him how physical prompts sometimes invoked clues, Warburg had merely nodded, slid the Dairil III rock shard across the desk and asked about his rates. It didn’t quite add up, but hey, he wasn’t going to pass up a fat fee just because it didn’t feel perfect.

  The problem was that he was still no closer to understanding how or why the disappearance had happened in the first place. If his special intuition gave him nothing more concrete, he was going to lose everything but the small retainer Outreach Industries had paid direct into his account, after all. He’d been running close to the edge for some time, and if he blew this one, things were going to get really tight and soon. Now, he had less than a week to come up with something he could give Outreach.

  Just perfect.

  TWO

  The traces of Stein’s talent had originally appeared during his stint in the military. He had known things. And then the dreams had started. He hadn't confided in anyone, but people had started to pay attention. Stein was lucky. It was a good thing to be on assignment with Stein. Witchy Stein, they'd called him. It had made him popular, but that popularity was superficial. His knack of being in the right place at the right time had finally earned him his stint in Intelligence. After a while, the regimentation and the shadowplays stuck in his throat and he'd sought a way out. He'd fought long and hard for his escape, but finally they'd let him go. It hadn't been easy.

  His time in the shadow world had earned him a few contacts. Not everyone stayed in the game and there were others, like him, who'd bought or bargained their way out. Most ended on the fringes of legitimate society — a population of spooks and ghouls, each carrying a dubious past. He was just another spook amongst the ghouls.

  Jack sat at his desk, feet crossed before him, chewing over multiple possibilities. He'd been scanning lists for the last half-hour, his handipad nestled on one thigh, seeking a trigger. Index after index scrolled past, heading after fruitless heading chipping away at his hope of finding something useful.

  An hour spent studying his hastily sketched notes from the dream had failed to provide the link. Snakes. What did snakes have to do with anything? It made no sense. Nor did the severed hand. Usually he could rely on something more clear-cut from the dream state. He thumbed off the handipad and tossed it onto the desk. He needed to get out and freshen his head. The stark environment of his office was fine for work, but its emptiness was a constant reminder of the wasteland his life had become over the past couple of years. A trip up to New — a recreational excursion — would do him good. The clean open spaces of New and the café society that made the district their own always managed to lighten his mood, even
if it was only to laugh at the shallowness of the freaks and designer wannabes that hung out there.

  He dragged his feet off the desk and pocketed the handipad.

  Who was he to laugh at shallowness anyway?

  Once outside his door, he muttered a command to lock up. Working in Old had its advantages, but there were disadvantages too, and he had some pretty expensive equipment in there; equipment he could ill afford to replace right now.

  Down on the avenue, and he peered at the shuttle schedule crawling up the marker pole. Five minutes. He'd have to change at Mid Central for the Newbound shuttle, but it would take much longer to walk. Connections were usually pretty good up at Mid Central. They seemed to coordinate the departures pretty well with the arrivals from Old. He gazed up at the far-above ceiling to kill time. The boys in Scenics were running a sunny day. Light fluffy clouds scudded over the ceiling panels a hundred meters above him. It was just as well. Through the scattered roof windows, outside, the day looked cloudy and dark.

  Outside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside. Away from the regulated protection of the Locality. Two, three years ago? It was just as easy to forget there was an outside sometimes.

  An advertising drone bumped against the side of his leg and he pushed it away with his foot, frowning his annoyance. They weren't supposed to make physical contact. This one was covered in graffiti and bore a deep dent on the top of its domed head where someone had clearly taken a swipe at it. Probably screwed its guidance controls. It reoriented and skittered toward him again. He pushed it away. Even its slogans were unreadable. He shook his head and turned back to look for the shuttle.

  Bump. The thing was pressed up against his leg again. Restraining an urge to kick it, Jack stooped and steered it into the gutter. It teetered on the edge for a moment, and then fell into the roadway, rolling around trying to right itself. Eventually it levered itself upright and homed in again. This time it collided with the gutter, once, twice, three times. Whatever guidance controls still remained finally alerted it that its way was blocked and it whirred away, scraping its sides against the gutter edge as it sought a way to remount the pavement.

  Jack shook his head. You'd think the advertising sponsors would do something about it, take it in for repair or something. But this was Old. Everything in Old was disposable.

  Darkness swept across the stop and Jack glanced up. The ceiling panels were rapidly clouding over, echoing the dark sky outside. Jack grimaced. It looked like they were scheduled for rain after all. The shuttle was due any moment, but in Old, you could never be sure. He was just as likely to get a soaking standing at the stop before the shuttle arrived. Sure, there were weather reports, but Jack didn’t really pay attention to schedules, nor to the mindless bulletins that permeated the Locality’s vid network. The people in Locality Operations liked to throw in a few surprises anyway, probably in an effort to simulate the outside world, make them all forget that they were living in an enclosed and programmed environment.

  The first warm drops were just starting to spatter on the roadway when the shuttle hissed to a stop in front of him. The doors slid open and he ducked inside. Jack found himself a seat where he could watch the door and hunched himself into a corner. The car was empty. Graffiti covered the walls and seats. Wrappers and bits of food littered the floor. Nothing new there. He smiled wryly to himself. Yeah, nothing New at all. The car would be cleaned once it reached Mid Central and before it resumed the return journey to the tail end of Old, but by the time it returned, it would be in exactly the same state. The shuttles up at the other end of the Locality, in New, were completely different. They were untouched by any passage through the districts of decay.

  The car lurched as the shuttle took off and Jack settled himself back for the ride. He let his gaze rove over the advertising displays scrolling along the tops of the walls, reading but not reading them, letting them filter past his awareness. Jack Stein, what the hell were you doing with your life? No, he didn't want to think about that. He had other, more immediate questions to worry about. Snakes. Rings. Severed hands. What was the connection?

  The shuttle slowed and the doors hissed open. A man stepped into the car, looked over at Jack warily, then sat in a seat diagonally opposite, right up against the other end of the car. The doors hissed shut and the shuttle started rolling again.

  The suspicious look was not unusual this far down in Old. Crime was sporadic, but it existed all the same, and enforcement at the lesser ends of the Locality was less than efficient. But the man appeared to have decided Jack was no immediate threat and he relaxed, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

  Jack studied him, taking care not to be seen looking. The man was short, stocky. His dark, receding hair was neatly sculpted and his wore it close to his head. His long coat had the shimmer of expensive fabric, augmented somehow. He perched awkwardly on the edge of his seat as if uncomfortable being there. He stared fixedly in front of him as if afraid of making the contact that a casual glance might provide. He was clearly not your usual denizen of Old or even lower Mid. Jack watched the man, wondering what he might have been doing down here. It could be anything. It could be anything slightly dubious. You could find all sorts of things in Old, if you were willing to pay for them and this guy looked like he could afford it.

  The shuttle slowed and the doors slid open. Jack's fellow passenger looked up with a start, but then returned to looking at the opposite wall, but not before casting a lingering glance in Jack's direction. There was something sleazy, tainted about the look, as if he were sharing a secret. Jack sniffed and looked away. The shuttle got underway again and Jack finally lost interest. He really didn’t want to know, he decided. Instead, he turned to half watching the passing buildings and people that wandered outside the window, and returned to playing with the connections in his head.

  Five stops later the man got out. Jack watched him as he pulled the shimmering coat tight around himself and scurried off down the street, clearly eager to be away. Jack peered out of the rear window, but there was no sign of his erstwhile traveling companion. Nor was there any clue which building he might have entered. They were about a couple of stops down from the true fringes of Mid, still more or less in Old. What business did a man like him really have down here?

  A couple of other passengers came and went on the journey to Mid Central, and Jack sat staring out the window, huddled into his corner watching them, playing the game with himself he always did on the shuttle. Were there any special characteristics? Were there any clues to who they might be or what they might do? Observation was important and it didn't hurt to keep in practice in his line of work. Besides, it helped to fill the time. He stepped out with two others, looking across the stops to see if his connecting shuttle was due. The ceiling had returned to sunny day — a relief. He watched his shuttle curve off into the siding tunnel, then crossed to where he could board the shuttle for New.

  He only had moments to wait. The connections really were good at Mid Central. Sometimes, he wondered how they coordinated it without letting the Newbound timetable get out of synch. The Newbound shuttle he boarded was pristine in comparison to the one he'd just left, and he joined it with a number of commuters, heading up to offices or business meetings. Plenty to watch. He managed to snag himself a corner seat before anyone else and propped himself against the partition. Nobody gave him a second glance. He immersed himself in his thoughts, pretending to ignore the others.

  The Outreach contract was a gem. Something like this only came along once in a blue moon. It was important that he start to make some real progress. He'd have to get something for them soon. If he didn’t, they’d start to get worried that he was wasting their time and money. Jobs like this one were few and far between and if he played it right, it could make his reputation. He just couldn't afford to blow it. Screw something up for someone like Outreach and everyone who mattered would hear about it. Feeling eyes upon him, he glanced up. He made a face at the old woman across the
aisle who was staring at him and she looked quickly away.

  The shuttle pulled in to a stop. A few got out, but more piled in. They were standing in the aisle now, and Jack crept back further into his seat. He scanned the legs and shoes. Definitely better quality than what you'd see on Oldbound. The clothing was better, newer too. Two stops further on, and the crowd thinned a little. They'd just passed the stop for the Central Reservation, a vast open space covered in grass and trees, centered by a large lake. Families, kids, they'd all be there soaking up the greenery and the natural light from the transparent ceiling panels positioned above the recreational space. They could probably get the same thing if they ever took the trouble to go outside, but why should they bother? Here, inside their protected environment, everything was there, regulated, safe. They pretty much knew when it was going to rain, the exact wind speed, and there would be the occasional burst of entertainment from the fringe panels to keep the kids entertained. All just perfect.

  Maybe it was a mistake coming up to New. Watching these people, seeing their regulated, ordered, safe lives, just put him in a bad mood. When it came down to it, he was escaping here in the Locality. Ultimately, he was no different from any of them. He just played it a different way. Anyway, being up here was just a neat way of avoiding the inevitable set of answers he had to find – classic displacement.

  oOo

  Jack left the shuttle right in the heart of New. The sunny day had been replaced by an aerial display. Sleek flyers swooped and rolled on the ceiling panels above against a background of clear blue sky, leaving vapor trails in their wake, criss-crossing white against the immaculate pale blue glow. He stood at the shuttle stop watching the show with a few other passers-by for several minutes before heading off.