oOo
Gleeson was in.
"We need to talk," said Jack as the small clerk looked at him nervously from the doorway and glanced up and down the corridor.
"Come inside," said Gleeson, beckoning him forward hurriedly, and Jack slipped past him into the apartment. Once he was inside, Gleeson shut the door and murmured, "Lock." He paused at the door, listening for a few seconds, then turned.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "I didn't expect to see you today. I know you said today, but I just assumed you'd forgotten what day it was."
"You should never assume, Francis. Anyway, things are moving in ways I'm not too happy about," said Jack. "I said I might need some help from you. Well, now's the time." It was the time all right — time to put the little man to the test.
"What is it?"
"Listen, do we have to stand here in the hallway?"
Gleeson seemed to remember himself. "Yes, of course. Sorry." He ushered Jack into the living area, a worried expression etched across his face. He perched on the edge of a couch and waved Jack to a chair, facing him. Jack glanced around the room. Everything was precisely ordered. Edges lined up with edges. Neat arrangements. There was no flair or particular taste in any of the arrangements, but the place was neat, almost obsessively so. Austerity and neatness. Perhaps that was the little man's life. So how did Gil Ronschke fit into that? He couldn’t see Ronschke fitting easily into such ordered neatness. The rough and ready exterior that Ronschke portrayed would surely be out of place in such pristine order. He could almost picture Ronschke blundering about the neat apartment, Gleeson fluttering after him, putting things back in order. Maybe it was the contrast that worked. Opposites and all that stuff.
"I had a call from the police this morning," said Jack.
The furrow in Gleeson's brow deepened. "Damn," he breathed. "Police? What did they want? How much do they know?"
"Nothing. Nothing important anyway. But I think I've got some news for you."
Gleeson's expression relaxed slightly. "Yes?"
"Yes, I'm pretty sure Gilbert's okay. I don't know where he is yet, but I think he's okay."
"You think?"
"Yes, I think. Remember, what I do isn’t necessarily an exact science. It's too early to be certain, but I thought you'd want to know that there was something positive."
"He's all right? Where is he? Why hasn't he been in touch?"
"Wait just a minute. Slow down. I told you I can't tell you where he is yet."
"But he's all right?" Gleeson sat at the edge of the couch, seemingly eager to pounce on the merest shred of information. Maybe too eager. It was almost as if the little man was hamming it up.
"I think so," said Jack warily.
"You think?"
"Yes, I think. I have only so much to go on. Now, he's somewhere, but I'm not sure exactly where yet. I have to do some more work."
"Oh, I see," said Gleeson, the initial rush of eager anticipation trickling away.
"Let me ask you," said Jack. "Has Ronschke had any recent medical treatment of any kind?"
Gleeson frowned. "Gil. Call him Gil, or at least Gilbert," he said absently before continuing. "No, I don't think so. That would be unlike Gil. Most unlike Gil. He abhors medicine. Hates doctors. Wants to do everything himself. He wouldn't even submit to the enhancement options. He prefers to work out." He shook his head slowly.
"I see," said Jack.
"What?"
"Nothing. It doesn't matter, for now." There was no point in upsetting the man unnecessarily if he really was on the level. He tucked the information away for later.
Gleeson nodded.
"That bottle you gave me was quite useful," said Jack, changing tack.
"Have you got it?"
Jack shook his head. "Shit, no sorry. It's back at my office."
Another frown flickered across Gleeson's features and remained there for a second or two. Despite everything, the fact that Jack had failed to bring the bottle with him had annoyed the little man. These sharp reactions were in total contrast to his soft, almost weak, outer presence.
Jack continued. "But that's not important for now. This morning's police call tells me I have to move quickly. I need to take a short trip and I need you to pay for it."
"Where?"
"The Residence," said Jack slowly.
"Why on earth do you need to go there?"
"That doesn't matter. All you need to know is that I have to go."
Gleeson sat back and folded his arms. "I'm not happy about this, Mister Stein. You're not telling me very much."
Jack watched him for a moment or two before continuing. "I think it's better if you don't know at the moment. Better for all concerned. Listen, you can be sure as soon as I have anything solid I'll let you know. There's little point otherwise, is there?"
Gleeson peered across at him, assessing. "All right. Just tell me how much you need."
"Enough for a return flight out to the Residence and maybe a bit extra."
"What do you need extra —?"
Jack stopped him. "You don't need to know that either. I’ve got expenses. Normally I’d be charging a daily rate as well, but circumstances are a little different this time."
Gleeson stood and started pacing. "I'm still not happy about this, Mister Stein. Not at all happy. And I'm becoming less so by the minute."
"Do you want me to find out where your friend is or not?"
Gleeson seemed to remember himself with that little reminder, stopping in mid stride. "Yes of course I do, Mr. Stein. Of course I do."
"So what about you?" said Jack. "Have you found anything?"
"I don't ... "
"Company records, Francis. You were going to do some digging for me."
Gleeson walked to the back of the couch. "You have to understand, it's not that easy. I have to be careful. And what with Foundation Day. If I was in the office today, there would be questions. I can't risk that. And neither, I think, can you."
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and sighed. "All right. I think I can deal with that. But you have to understand that we need to move more quickly than this. The urgency applies just as much to you as it does to me." He looked up at Gleeson, daring the little man to argue. He couldn't afford to pander to the clerk's seemingly fragile emotions. Not now. He had far better things to worry about. Nor could he hint at how large this thing was becoming, the sense of unease growing inside himself. Gleeson was flighty, he might panic, and with Jack's information resources sitting at rock bottom, he couldn't afford to have him disappear. He really did need the man’s help with Outreach too. His access, his position was invaluable.
"Yes, yes. I understand," Gleeson said resignedly after a pause.
"Good. So, let's see about booking that flight. Return. Private charter."
"Private — what?"
"We need to be discreet. Besides, there's not many other ways to get out there. One. One in the name of Louis Warburg. That would do. It was anonymous enough not to draw questions, and he liked the amusement factor of throwing those two names together. He ignored the questioning look and sat back as Gleeson started issuing instructions to his wall unit.
Jack still had no idea what he was going to do about Billie. In his guts, he was starting to know there was a reason she was there, part of the bigger picture, but it wasn't enough. Tangles and complications. And every time he thought about last night's events, a chill flowered inside. What sort of life must she have had? What had she been through? It wasn't his problem, but at the same time, it was. It had become his problem. He wasn't responsible. He couldn't be responsible for what had happened to her, what she'd been through, and yet he felt responsibility, as strange as that was. He didn’t want to feel it, and right now, it was cluttering the spaces inside his head.
Gleeson finished the arrangements, pausing twice for instructions. Finally, it was done and Jack pulled out his handipad to download the details. He checked the booking, nodde
d to himself, then looked back up at Gleeson.
"Oh, and one last thing, remember?” said Jack. “As I said, a little something to cover those extra expenses wouldn't hurt."
Gleeson pursed his lips, nodded grudgingly and then issued further instructions to the wall unit. Jack held out the handipad and watched for the download, then nodded in satisfaction.
"Thank you, Francis," Jack said. "I know you can't do anything about Outreach today, but as soon as you can, some time in the next couple of days, I could use that other information I'm after."
Gleeson nodded again slowly, pressing his lower lip with his teeth. He took a deep breath. "And Gil?" he said finally.
"As soon as I can," said Jack. "I don’t know how long that will be, but I'll be in touch. I think it might be better at the moment if you didn't try and contact me — at least for a few days. If I need to talk to you, then I’ll talk to you, okay? I'll see myself out."
He left Gleeson standing there, a trace of veiled hope buried in the desperation written across his face. Maybe the man was just fucked up and maybe Jack was being too suspicious. It had happened in the past. Gleeson might be on the level after all.
oOo
By the time he got back, Billie had done the thing with the door lock again. Jack growled, feeling stupid, standing uselessly in the corridor, again denied access to his own place.
"Dammit, Billie, let me in."
A few seconds and the door finally opened. He stalked into the living room and glared at her.
"I thought you were supposed to have put things back the way they were."
She was sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms encircling them.
"Well?" he said.
She shrugged.
"Is that it? Shit, Billie, if you're going to stay here you'll have to stop making things difficult for me." He tossed his handipad onto a nearby armchair and stood waiting. She shrugged again and looked away.
"Jesus, Billie. What is it now?"
"You said you'd bring something back."
"I don't — "
"I'm hungry," she said from between closed teeth, not looking at him.
Jack sighed. She was right. He'd forgotten all about it. He didn't eat breakfast; the stims he used so regularly suppressed his appetite anyway, so it was easy enough to forget. He rubbed his forehead and sat.
"Yeah, okay. I forgot. We'll grab something out and then I'll have to go to the port."
She turned her head to face him. "Anything I want?"
"Yes. Anything you want."
That seemed to satisfy her for the moment. She unfurled her limbs and leaned forward. "Can we go right now?"
"In a few minutes. First I want you to tell me what you've found out."
"It's all there," she said, gesturing to the wall with a tilt of her head.
"Look, I don't have time to read through it now. I'll download it just before we leave. For now, why don't you just tell me."
"It's boring."
"I don't care if it's boring. The sooner you tell me what you've found, the sooner we go and get something to eat ... whatever you want, like I said. Meanwhile, I want a coffee. You want one?"
"Nuh-uh," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Okay," said Jack and wandered to the kitchen. Billie started talking from the other room.
"There was too much stuff there," she said. "With those words you gave me, there were all sorts of like, stories and history stuff."
"History stuff is good," said Jack as he waited for the coffee.
"But there's too much. I had to cut down the number of hits, and even then it was still too much."
"Uh-huh. But ... "
"Well ... " Billie's voice sounded doubtful.
"Go on."
"Well, there was all this history stuff about a snake eating itself, right? That was the first word you gave me. Ouroboros. Then there was more stuff on like chemistry."
"Chemistry?"
"They called it alchemy, but it was really chemistry. Just sort of weird. The way they talk about stuff is strange."
Jack wandered back into the living room carrying his coffee. He sat opposite her and sipped as he waited for her to continue. Her face was a mask of concentration.
She went on. "And the snake thing had other names too. Like Jormungandr. I don't know if I said that right. It was something to do with something called Yggdrasil or ... I don't know."
Jack frowned. Even he would have difficulty dealing with those names, and he was used to strange research. They were tumbling from her lips as if she used them every day. Even remembering them ...
"Yeah, okay, I don't know if that's useful. Anything else? What about 'stone' or 'key'?"
She nodded. "The alchemy stuff had things about that. What's a philosopher?"
"Um, why?"
"Because there was all this stuff about something called a philosopher's stone. And something else called an androgyne or something like that. Then there were other names like Para ... celsus and Newton or somebody."
The first meant nothing to him, but the Philosopher's Stone was familiar and Newton was easy enough. That was basic school stuff. He'd had occasion to deal with classic archetypes they used in that stuff more than once, the way they cropped up in dreams repeatedly. So what the hell did alchemy have to do with what had happened on Dairil III? Something, clearly. Or at least the symbols from it. Gil Ronschke's dream image had talked about a stone for a reason. The dream images weren’t random. Words spoken in dreams were particularly significant. Jack had learned that over the years.
"Hey!" Billie was looking at him accusingly.
Jack gave her a questioning frown.
"You going to tell me or just sit there like you're going to sleep?"
He bit back his reply, then answered more slowly. "A philosopher was someone who used to think about the world, what made things work, why everything was the way it was. They liked to find out the reasons things are the way they are. It's more complicated than that, but that's the idea." He had to try and be patient with her.
Alchemy. What was the link?
"Okay, there might be something there, there might not, but you've given me an idea or two. I don't know who this Paracelsus guy was, but Newton had to do with science, about things moving, right?" said Jack. She shrugged.
"So, what do you want to eat?" he said, changing the subject. There was too much to think about in what she'd told him already and he needed time for it to filter through his subconscious. He tossed his handipad over and she snatched it deftly out of the air.
"Anything I want?"
"That's what I said. You can download the research while you make up your mind."
She started the download then looked up. "I already know."
"What?"
"Molly's," she said.
"You're sure?" Jack ate a lot of crap, but there was a limit. A Mollyburger was right at the edges of that limit.
"Yep, Molly's," she said with certainty.
Great. Synth crap for breakfast — just what he needed.
Billie tossed the handipad back and got to her feet. He could scan the download on the way to the port after he’d dealt with Molly’s. There was a Molly's near everything in New or Mid, and that's the way they had to head.
Outside in the corridor, Jack grimaced as Billie leaned over and locked the door. He had to do something about the way the girl was taking over his life and his space. It just wasn't healthy. He watched her all the way down from the apartment.
Out on the street, waiting for the shuttle, he remembered something.
"Billie."
"Yeah?" She was watching the Foundation Day displays above them — a rush and whirl of rainbow colors.
"No one called while I was out?"
"Dunno"
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I blocked all incomings. Took the system off the net." She said it completely matter-of-factly as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"You what?"
"Took it off the net." She shrugged. "It's back on now."
"Why did you do that?" Forget about how she'd managed to do it.
"I was busy." She shrugged again. "Don't worry. They can't tell."
Jack stared at her, but she went on watching the ceiling display, unconcerned.
Damn. He had no way of knowing. If Ng had tried to contact him again, what would he have thought? It was bad enough that the police were interested. It didn't matter so much as far as work was concerned. Any new contacts would come through his office, and he'd be unlikely to get anything on Foundation Day anyway. He stood watching her askance, chewing at his bottom lip until the shuttle drew up in front of them.
They rode in silence, Jack absorbed in the downloaded information on the handipad. Occasionally he glanced up, but Billie was staring out the windows at the passing buildings and people. This time, they’d been lucky enough to get seats. She'd been right. There was a lot of information and most of it seemed next to useless. Page after page scrolled past his eyes and he barely absorbed a shred of it, relying on his intuition to draw him to key words or phrases. They pulled into a stop. A couple of passengers boarded, and they were underway again. Midway to the next stop, something snagged his attention. He'd almost missed it in the casual scan. A sudden stab of awareness shot through him and he backed up a few pages. It was a poem. A seventeenth century poem.
Old Sages by the Figure of the Snake
Encircled thus did oft expression make
Of Annual-Revolutions; and of things,
Which wheele about in everlasting-rings;
There ending where they first of all begun.
These Roundells help to shew the Mystery
of that immense and blest Eternitie,
From whence the CREATURE sprung, and into whom
It shall again, with full perfection come.
Jack stared at the words. He read them over again, looking for the thing that had caught his attention. Nothing there made any sense. He remembered the dream of the mining camp, the thing extruding from the wall and felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. He snapped the handipad closed and stared out the window feeling gray and iridescent multiple realities sliding away beneath him.
Wyrmhole Page 9
