Wyrmhole

by Jay Caselberg

  EIGHT

  Molly’s was worse than he expected. Long lines of families and kids queued for the dispensing counters. A couple of the parents glanced at him as he took his place in line with Billie, taking in his scruffy appearance and long coat, disapproval clearly etched in their expressions. They could think what they liked. He was taking Billie to where she wanted to be, and just because it happened to be in the New end, didn’t mean he had to do anything special. Gradually, the line moved on, people, families, kids, grabbing their trays of crap and heading to find free tables. Finally, their own turn came. Billie leaned forward and ordered, eagerness in her voice. The dispenser popped the food out in front of them, and Billie grabbed their own tray full of crap and headed to find a table. Once seated, Billie wolfed into her burger, her legs swinging back and forth beneath her.

  Jack sat watching, toying with the stuff in front of him, not really interested. He didn’t feel right here. This was not his place. What the hell was he doing here?

  Off to one side, a young boy dropped part of his unfinished burger on the floor. He was leaning over sideways, reaching to pick it up, when the floor, sensing something it could use, swallowed the synthetic lump. That was the only way to describe it. Small ridges had extruded around the piece of burger, a depression had formed, and then the ridges had closed over the piece, making it disappear, as if some bizarre mouth had grown out of the floor and swallowed. Jack swallowed too, a sense of revulsion rising within.

  Seeing his piece of burger vanish, the kid started screaming. Jack narrowed his eyes and groaned under his breath. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need this at all. Struggling, he turned his attention back to Billie.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before she seemed satisfied and he could ferry her back to the apartment before heading back up to the port.

  oOo

  The port itself lay at the extreme New end of the Locality, right at the head. A large retractable panel formed part of the ceiling over a wide open area giving access to fliers coming and going to the major spaceport on the coast, the Residence, and other areas within easy striking distance of the structure. From time to time, that meant other urban structures similar to the Locality, but transfers between the various mobile cities were few. The Locality was the most significant of all of them, dominating business and commerce on the continent. There were no roads – there was no need for roads. Since the development of mobility in urban living, fixed transport routes had become a thing of the past.

  Jack left the shuttle at the last stop and headed the rest of the way by foot. After looking around the port area, he found the offices of the private shuttle company, his handipad out and ready. Once inside, he simply keyed the booking information at a wall screen, and within moments, a pilot was there to greet him.

  “Mr. Warburg?” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Jack. Good, the booking seemed in order.

  “This way please. The Residence right?”

  Jack nodded and followed. He waited while the pilot clambered up, finished prepping and opened the rear door for Jack to climb in. As soon as the pilot had checked that Jack was strapped in, he kicked the engines into life and slid the privacy screen shut. Jack smiled to himself. There was nothing quite like proper travel. He only wished he could afford to pay for it on his own. He looked up, marveling as always as the vast ceiling panel retracted, sliding back into the Locality’s structure to disappear from view. The flier lifted, slowly, then more rapidly, and Jack settled back into the plush, comfortable seat, watching as the newest of the Localities structures, all hard edges, reaching and finding a newer architectural design regime – building fashions changed and these new ones were all glassy and metallic rather than the softer pastels shapes toward Old — slid past the windows, down and away, below him, the noise of the rotors growing louder as it gained speed.

  The flyer banked and soared, the sound of its rotors beating over the cabin. The flyer dipped and then headed out over the Locality's roof. Jack leaned over, his face pressed up against the window, peering down at the huge urban corridor crawling across the landscape beneath them. A vast swathe, furrowed through the land, marked its progress, the track meandering back and forth as the Locality’s pre-programmed sensors sought out the raw materials it needed. The structure’s outside shone with slick iridescence catching the light here and there and fragmenting it into star-shaped rainbows, sparking off the surface. The surrounding landscape denied the presence. Verdant, unsullied, it stared skyward, pretending that the mobile hive simply wasn’t there. There was something wrong about it, thought Jack, as if it belonged to another place altogether. He wondered whether he too belonged to another place altogether, whether all of them belonged in another place, and then his thoughts turned to Billie.

  It would be easy for him just to think of her as an ordinary kid — the experience at Molly's, her excitement as she'd thought she was going to be flying with him, and then the disappointment — but then he'd remember. He’d remember the involuntary maturity, the damaged hostility, and he knew it was more complex than that. He absently fingered the top of the mystery handipad thrust deep into his pocket. If what Billie had said was true, and he had no reason to doubt it, whatever the handipad contained was beyond his reach. He was no scientist. Sure, he’d done his own research about archetypical images and the sort of mystical traditions that dealt with dreams and foreknowledge. In a way, that was a science of its own, but formulae, equations, physics, all that stuff was really outside his knowledge or experience. What mattered was that the handipad’s owner would want it back, and that other parties had an interest. Whether it would get him any closer to solving the Outreach problem remained to be seen, but he could force the connections in this case. Sometimes, he just had to grab circumstance and shake it into some sort of shape that he could recognize.

  Science stuff. What would one of the untouchable wealthy of the Residence want with scientific formulae, with equations and the like, let alone material on philosophers and alchemy? Who even knew what they were into? The Residence folk kept pretty much to themselves. Their privacy could mask a multitude of diversions, a multitude of sins.

  Again, his thoughts drifted back to the kid he had somehow inherited.

  "Billie," he'd said to her at Molly's

  "Uh-huh," she'd answered, preoccupied with demolishing her burger.

  "Not that they’re going to, but if anyone asks, I'm your uncle. I just brought you with me for a Foundation Day treat."

  "Sure."

  "Uncle Jack," he said thoughtfully.

  "Okay. Just like Uncle Pinpin."

  The chill struck deep through his spine. "No," he said. "Nothing like Pinpin. Just Uncle Jack."

  "Uh-huh."

  How could she have made that connection? No, he could see why. He shook his head, tasting the deeper implications and not liking them very much.

  He looked out over his shoulder at the glittering snake of the Locality. Further back, in the distance, the signs of regrowth marked the trail. The sunlight reflected across the roof panels, shimmering rainbows. Here, from this height, it was hard to imagine the enormity of the beast. Twenty story walls had shrunk to the size of a finger's breadth. The districts where echoed by almost segments along the length of the beast. There were virtual borders, invisible from the inside, but defined by the outer shell and the patterns of the ceiling panels. Maybe it had something to do with programming and maintenance, a way to track where particular things were going on within the structure itself. The Locality trailed off, becoming smaller as the decaying materials were reabsorbed into the body. It left a long tail, just like the end of a snake. Jack had almost forgotten what it was like.

  It had been years since he'd been outside. It was so easy to forget there even was an outside. Everything you might possibly need was there inside the Locality. Every single one of the inhabitants worked and lived and moved from day to day enclosed within their artificial womb, the umbilicus of the Loca
lity itself feeding them at the touch of a button or a spoken command. What sort of life was it, really? They were like drones, characterless, devoid of real motivation or ambition. All they did was produce for the unseen corporation that owned the place. No, he had more important things to think about than the state of their collective life. They’d all chosen it, after all.

  Going to Molly's had been a good idea. He'd been able to watch and check whether they'd been tailed on their way from the apartment. While Billie shoveled her face full of synthetic Mollyburger, he'd picked at fries, watching the door and trying to block out the noise of the Foundation Day families taking their kids for a treat. Family values, that was what Molly's was all about, or at least what they fed the consumers and their kids. Synthesized media crap along with the synthesized crap they stuck between buns. He’d examined the fry as he held it aloft in front of his eyes, wondering if it was real potato or some vegetable simulacrum made to resemble potato. Now that would have been a real irony – making vegetables up to look like other vegetables. Jack had his own inbuilt cynicism working overtime, but Billie had seemed to enjoy it.

  Jack had had another thought while they were eating, remembering the way she had seized and distilled the information she'd researched for him.

  "How much of that science stuff on the handipad do you remember?" he'd asked.

  "Some," she answered with a shrug. Perhaps he could use that. It was better to pretend that he hadn't been through it himself. Safer that way, if it came to it. Nobody would suspect her.

  "Doesn't matter anyway," she'd said. "I uploaded it to your system while you were out."

  He slapped at his forehead with the tips of his fingers and gave a wordless growl between his teeth.

  "You did what?"

  "Uploaded it. After I finished looking at that snake stuff, I got bored. Had to do something."

  "But wasn't it protected?"

  "Sure." Another shrug.

  "If you were bored, why didn't you watch a vid or something."

  "Didn't want to."

  And that was that. Jack ran the possibilities over in his head. His home system now held the contents of the handipad. If the incident at Pinpin's place was anything to go by, that could be dangerous. There was no way he could claim lack of knowledge now. What if Pinpin's visitors came looking? He chewed it over as they sat there, but there were no other options.

  "I'm worried about having that stuff there, Billie?"

  She paused mid-bite and looked at him. "What for?"

  "What if that pair come looking?"

  "Who?"

  "That pair at Pinpin's."

  She shrugged again. "Oh, those two. They can't find it. Not if I don't want them to. Nobody can find it."

  Her matter-of-fact certainty was unsettling, but he let it be. What was done was done, for now. There was nothing to tie the pair at Pinpin's to his apartment as far as he knew and he'd just have to let it rest at that.

  He stared out the side window as the land whipped by beneath. The terrain was passing him by just like the chain of events, and he felt like he was powerless to stop the tide.

  Before long, the flier approached the environs of the Residence. Jack had only had cause to be out this way once before, but it looked pretty much the same as he remembered it. He watched the low squat shapes overlooking the bay, the terraced gardens, the gravel drives. These were houses. And they were houses built the old way, brick upon brick, stone upon stone. No automatic build program here, no technology to do the work for you. Craftsmen, people, stuff done the way it had been done years before build programs even existed. It reeked of money. It was funny how the more wealth people accumulated, the older were the things they collected and did. Antiques, houses built the old way, gardens, open air — the irreplaceable. How exactly did you value the marks of privilege?

  Hard to think that they were houses. He just wasn't used to seeing living spaces like this. Nothing like the apartment buildings back in the Locality. These huge structures were built for one family, or even one person. What for? So they could keep private. So they could be selective about what they saw. Just like the way they all looked out over the ocean. One fixed view, only seeing what they wanted to see.

  The flyer started descending, heading for a landing pad atop one of the nearby hills. They settled gently to the ground and the pilot opened the privacy screen. Blank insect eyes, reflective shades. No expression.

  "Take this," he said, holding out a card. "It's auto call, for when you need to leave."

  Jack palmed the card and frowned. "I'm not sure how long I'll be. Can't you wait?"

  The pilot shook his head. "They don't like us hanging around. Strict rules."

  He grunted his understanding. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. The door slid open and he climbed down to a flat expanse of grass. He backed away as the door slid shut and the flyer took off again, quickly fading to an indistinct speck against the cloud-smudged sky.

  "Hunh," said Jack. He'd forgotten. Last time he'd been out here, it was a prearranged visit. There'd been someone to meet him, to ferry him to where he was going in a slow-moving electric transport. This time it was walk.

  Jack turned and looked for a way down, but the hilltop was an unbroken expanse of undisturbed grass, apart from the twin indentations marking where the flyer had stood. Green, gray and blue sky above. He felt disconnected, as if he were part of a dream sequence that had no relevance to anything he was working on. A slight breeze rippled his coat.

  He flipped open his handipad and called up the map. Where was he going?

  He reoriented the handipad, getting his bearings. He could see the house from here. It was a wide, stone affair. Columns ran along a porch around the outside. Broad windows reflected the ocean meeting the line of sky, over the valley. Walls of glass. It sat high up on the opposite hill overlooking the bay, peeking over the tops of a stand of neatly arrayed and pruned trees. He chose his direction, plotting a path through the wide estates and headed on down.

  Jack felt out of place. He looked out of place with his old coat, scruffy clothes and stubbled chin. Well, he had a reason for being here, and if the Van der Stegen name meant anything, it should mean something out here, not that he expected to run into anyone.

  He reached the edge of the estate where the buildings started and Jack scanned the area warily. There was not a sign of life. No doubt he was already being scanned and monitored by various security systems, but no sign of people. The stillness, the silence was uncomfortable, especially after the crowded avenues of the Locality. He shrugged, a half-hearted attempt to shake off the feeling, and headed up toward his destination, his hands shoved into his pockets. Absent-mindedly, he fingered the mystery handipad. He wondered how many tourists they got out here. Probably not that many. Too expensive. He imagined how many actual people were tracking him now as he walked slowly up the hill to the big house that was his destination.

  He'd just entered the grounds of the Van der Stegen residence when there were signs of movement from the building itself.

  "Shit," muttered Jack. One of the electric transports he'd seen on his last visit was whirring down the drive toward him. It drew to a stop long after Jack had had time to study its occupant.

  She was stunning. That was the only word for it. A shimmering robe hung about her, barely disguising the shape of her slim, well proportioned body. Long chestnut hair was swept up in twin wings, either side of her face, a long, finely sculpted face with wide full mouth and dark slightly almond-shaped eyes. Probably enhanced, but he could forget that for now. He could forget all of it. He could dream of a woman like this.

  She took her time looking back at him, returning his gaze unconcernedly. "Yes?" she said finally. A deep rich voice.

  Jack finally remembered himself. "Hello," he said.

  Good opening, Stein. She looked at him blankly.

  "Um, I'm Jack Stein. I wanted to see Mister Van der Stegen. Mister Joshua Van der Stegen. This is the place, right?"
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  She took a moment before answering, considering. "Hmm. Well, Daddy's not here at the moment. I guess you don't have an appointment, or if you have, he's probably forgotten it. He does that all the time. People get used to it. Perhaps I can help you. If you'd like to tell me the nature of your business."

  "Daddy?"

  "Yes, Joshua Van der Stegen is my father. I'm Anastasia Van der Stegen."

  "I have something that I believe belongs to him, Miss Van der Stegen. I wanted to return it to him in person."

  Another pause and a coolness in the voice. "Right. Well, he's not here. You can give it to me. What is it?"

  "I believe it's his handipad."

  "I see." She seemed to consider for a moment, and then the frostiness rapidly left her voice. "You'd better come up to the house. Climb on."

  He nodded and clambered up behind her. This close, he caught a rich floral scent. Something like roses, but different. She swung the transport in a wide arc, then headed back up to the house itself.

  "The house alerted me and I saw you coming up the hill," she said over her shoulder. "I didn't think I recognized you, though Daddy has some pretty strange visitors. Apart from that, we don't get many people out here."

  "So, Miss Van der Stegen, is it just you and your father here?"

  He looked around at the grounds as she replied. Neatly tended hedges bordered the wide light graveled drive. Beyond them lay flowerbeds and further back he thought he caught a glimpse of a tennis court.

  "Tasha. Most people call me Tasha. Yes, just us, except for the people who work here, of course. So you say you have Daddy's handipad?"

  "I believe it's his."

  She eased the transport to a stop in front of tall, thick paneled front doors, slid down from the front seat and beckoned him to follow. A wide stone roof covered the parking spot, supported by neatly sculpted white columns. And speaking of neatly sculpted, Jack watched the movement of Tasha’s back and legs beneath the sheer opalescent fabric appreciatively. The robe clung to her shape as she moved, delineating her body in vaguely pearly shimmers. She flung the door wide and waltzed inside. A moment later, her voice came from inside.