"Well, come on, Jack Stein."
He grunted, jumped from the transport and followed. This wouldn't do. He had to get a grip.
They entered a vast hallway, echoing. A tiled floor stretched before them, real tiles, black and white in a checkerboard pattern. A wide staircase circled to an upper level, a staircase looking like it was made of marble with a wooden banister, rich dark and deeply polished. Other doorways led off the entrance hall. Anastasia Van der Stegen stood, leaning back against a wall, her position only enhancing the fall of the fabric about her body. She let her gaze rove languidly, slowly, up and down Jack's frame, taking in the coat, his boots and back to his face. She pushed herself from the wall, crossed the intervening space, and stood close to him, too close. One hand reached up to finger the fabric of his coat. He could feel her breath on his cheek. It was sweet, fresh, and added to the heady floral scent that surrounded her.
"So, Jack Stein, let's see what you have to show me." Her voice was smooth, suggestive.
He fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out the handipad, the right one, and held it out. She barely glanced at it, instead, holding his gaze with her big, dark eyes.
"Daddy will be pleased," she said. She took the handipad and tossed it casually on to a nearby hall table. "Can't abide the things myself." Letting her fingers linger for just a moment, she turned and walked to the wall. Jack glanced around the sumptuous trappings. Above them hung a chandelier, multi-faceted glass drops catching the light in rainbows.
"How did you come by it, Jack Stein?" she said without turning around.
"What?" he asked, momentarily confused.
"The handipad, of course."
"It doesn't really matter, does it?"
She looked at him over her shoulder, and before she could mask it, he caught a brief look of calculation in the gaze.
"No, I suppose not."
He cleared his throat. "Um, Miss Van der Stegen —"
"Tasha." She turned to face him, leaning back against the wall again.
"All right, Tasha." He was having difficulty concentrating on what he was here for. "Did your father mention that he'd lost his handipad?"
She shrugged.
"Or maybe that it was important?"
She gave a slight shake of her head. The movement caused a ripple to run through the robe's fabric and Jack tracked it and swallowed involuntarily.
"So how do you know it's his?” she said. “Usually he's pretty careful with his things."
"Oh, let's just say I have my own ways of knowing."
Again the flutter of calculation in her glance, again the quick dropping of the shutters of naïveté. This girl was more than she wanted to let on.
She pushed herself from the wall and smoothed the dress against her thighs. "You said you thought it might be important."
"I just wondered. I thought it might have had something to do with his business. I've had a bit of trouble since I, um, acquired it."
Another shrug and Jack found his attention wandering again.
"I wouldn't know anything about that. Daddy doesn't talk to me about business. I overhear things from time to time, but all that science and space doesn't really interest me."
Science and space. Those words brought his attention quickly back to the immediate.
Anastasia continued. "I am so sorry it's caused you problems. You must let me give you something to make up for your trouble." She let the statement hang between them. Jack tried to ignore the implications.
"It must have cost you to bring it all the way out here," she said finally.
Jack thought of a number and doubled it. Sometimes he hated bringing things down to money, but not this time. Anything she might give him would be a mere drop in the ocean to people like the Van der Stegens. After all, her family, the other people who lived around here had an entire hive of worker drones to satisfy their needs and whims.
Anastasia turned back to the wall and spoke a command. "Have you got your own handipad with you?"
"Sure," said Jack and dug it out and flipped it open, ready.
She spoke another couple of commands. The number was more than what he'd told her. Jack closed the handipad, feeling pleased at the unexpected bonus. He wouldn't be so reliant upon Gleeson and the Outreach contract now.
Thoughts of Gleeson suddenly reminded him why he was here.
"Listen, I would still like to talk to your father about this," he said. "Here's my card. I'm a P.I., Miss Van der Stegen. Your father might have links to a case I'm working on at the moment and I'd like to ask him a few questions."
She took the card and ran her finger slowly back and forth along the edge, watching him all the while. She barely glanced at the card, then slipped it inside some concealed pocket inside the robe. Jack struggled to think where there might be space for a pocket in the garment.
"Sure," said Anastasia. "I'll let him know. A P.I.?"
"Yeah. Psychic Investigator."
"How interesting." He'd expected condescension in the reaction, but if it was there, there was no trace of it.
"Do you expect your father back?"
Another shrug. "He might be back. He might not."
"Well, it is important that I talk to him."
"I'll let him know when I see him," she said with a shrug.
"Thanks," said Jack. "I'll find my own way out."
She said nothing. He left Anastasia Van der Stegen standing there, leaning against the wall, watching.
Once outside on the broad gravel drive, Jack muttered to himself. "Get a hold of yourself, Jack. You know better than to think with your dick instead of your head. Stupid."
He walked back down the hill thinking about the Van der Stegen girl's behavior and his own response. There was too much going on there that didn't add up. Not only the feigned innocence, but other little things. She'd said she hated handipads, and yet she had loaded his without a blink. She was obviously aware of the effect she had on the male thought processes. What would she want to play with someone like him for anyway? He assumed it had to be play. Maybe it gave her a sense of power or something. And the casual dropping of the stuff about science and space — all innocence, but was it? Science and space. He shook his head and as he walked back up the hill to the landing field, he slipped the card into his handipad to call the flyer that would take him back to the Locality.
oOo
By the time he got back, Billie was hungry again. Another visit to Molly's and another fight against the Foundation Day crowds, squeezed into the shuttle and they finally made it back to the apartment. The synth food sat heavily in his stomach and he felt the acid rising in his throat. He couldn't go on eating like this. Once upon a time, he’d sworn to himself that he’d never eat that crap, but sometimes, just sometimes, easy was better. He resigned himself to getting some supplies. It wouldn't have mattered so much if Billie didn't get hungry so quickly. Jack could go without food for hours, sometimes days. Recently, he often simply forgot to eat.
He didn't have time for this. He needed to think, to try and put the pieces together.
"Billie, I need to do some work. Then we can talk about what we're going to do with you."
"What am I going to do?"
"I don't know. Watch a vid or something."
He left her there in the living room and shut himself in the bedroom, lay back on the bed and flipped open his handipad. There was a lot of stuff to go through.
Two hours later and he'd read all he could. Billie had left him undisturbed and he'd been able to piece together a few points.
The Ouroboros had been a recurring symbol through Earth culture from ancient times, not only in myths and legend, but in dream images as well. Even down to that chemist that had dreamed about the snake biting its own tail, which had led to the structure of Benzene.
Archetypes. Dream images. Symbols.
And alchemy.
Big questions, one after the other.
What was the significance? How was it linked to the happeni
ngs on Dairil III?
He remembered the ring in the dream. Black and silver. It may as well be black and white. Positive and negative. Yin and yang. And inside the snake, the writing. It was Greek. It meant, "The All is One." He knew that much now, but it made no more sense to him than any of the rest.
So, what did the symbol mean? From what he could glean, its primary meaning was a representation of the cyclic nature of the universe; creation out of destruction; life out of death.
The death part made sense, but it was a tenuous link at best. It had to be deeper than that. Then there was Ronschke's mention of the stone, whatever stone that might be. Linking the snake to alchemy, it could only be the fabled Philosopher's Stone, the catalyst to transformation. Change. The end is the beginning. As above so below.
The mystic rubrics tumbled through his head, fogging the thought process rather than clearing it.
He was wasting his time.
But somehow, Outreach was linked to Joshua Van der Stegen and whatever lay coded on his handipad. And in turn that was linked to whatever had happened to Gil Ronschke and the rest of the mining crew.
If Van der Stegen was involved, it was big. Bigger maybe than just Outreach. Jack didn't know what Van der Stegen did yet, but he clearly had immense resources at his disposal. Science and space. Exactly the same sort of background that Outreach had in its Dairil III operations. Somebody clearly cared very much about what was going on. Pinpin's visitors had shown him that far more clearly than he would have liked.
And then there was Billie. What exactly was her role in all of this? Sure, maybe it was just coincidence that she’d been there when he’d visited Pinpin, but he was reluctant to accept that. He had a feeling about it.
His thoughts strayed back to the ring in the mine. There was just too much there, too many symbols to tease apart. The black and white. The severed hand, cut off from ... what? If the last Dairil III dream had told him anything, then the link was Ronschke, but he seriously doubted that such a ring would have belonged to the burly miner. Just not his style. And the ring was more than just a ring. The snake biting its own tail was a ring in itself. So, it was a ring on a ring. It had dimensionality.
And then there was the thing coming out of the wall. Was it something alive? Was it the 'creature' in that old poem?
His head hurt. He needed a drink, but he didn't have time any more. He let the handipad drop to the bed beside him and sighed with frustration. Knowing what he had to do, he reached over, pulled open the drawer by the bed and retrieved a stim patch. At least the drugs might give him some focus. Keeping his energy levels going and focused concentration was what he needed now. With a look of distaste, recalling the sensations from the first Dairil III dream, he smoothed it on.
He still had work to do. Lots of work. Time to look at the material from Joshua Van der Stegen's handipad. Running his fingers back through his hair, he moved his head from side to side to ease the tension in his neck, and wandered out into the living room to talk to Billie and get her to give him access to the downloaded material.
Jack glanced at the wall as he wandered in. The material was already open, and Billie was scanning through it.
“I might have found some things,” she said, looking up.
NINE
"Call waiting," said the wall.
"Who?" said Jack, barely able to contain the trace of annoyance in his voice. He'd made no further progress with the Van der Stegen material and the frustration was growing. The pointers Billie had given him had been starting points, but nothing more. He didn’t know why he’d expected anything else. She was currently in the other room fixing herself something to eat. Just as well. Whoever the caller was, he didn’t want her seen.
"Identity withheld," said the wall.
He debated for a moment then killed the notes display and said "Answer." He'd been making limited progress anyway. Lots of fragments and passages about containment fields, bridges, exotic matter, riddled with formulae and theoretical assumptions. Way beyond him, even with the extra edge provided by the stim patch.
The face that swam into view was not one he recognized — a severe face, high browed, thinning white hair, dark, thick eyebrows.
"Jack Stein?"
"Yeah, and you are...?"
"Joshua Van der Stegen, Mister Stein."
If this was Joshua Van der Stegen, then his daughter must have gotten her looks from her mother.
Van der Stegen continued. "I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mister Stein, for returning my, uh ... property." He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. Just for a moment, Jack thought about the millions of little non-living creatures scuttling around inside the wall to make the image change. "May I ask you how you came by it?"
At that moment, Billie appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of ready-cooked. The expression on Van der Stegen's face changed. "Ah, and this would be ...?"
Jack cursed inwardly. "My niece, Mister Van der Stegen."
A frown flickered and he glanced toward her pointedly.
"No, it's fine," said Jack, taking his meaning immediately. "We can talk in front of Billie."
"Ah, I see. All right then ..."
Jack had already crafted what he was going to say in case of just such a conversation. He recounted the story about finding the handipad on a shuttle, dropped by someone that he didn’t know. When he was finished, Van der Stegen looked thoughtful.
"I see," he said. "I don't suppose you know who this person on the shuttle might have been." He rubbed at his top lip with one finger.
"I don't mind telling you," said Jack. "Our friend on the shuttle isn't the only one who has expressed an interest in your ‘property’ as you call it."
"How so?"
"Considering the exact nature of that interest, I'd prefer not to go into it right here and now."
"I see." Van der Stegen gave a quick nod, then paused, clearly considering. "I understand you're an investigator, Mister Stein."
"Yeah, P. I. — Psychic Investigations. What of it?"
"And I don't suppose your current work would have anything to do with the object coming into your possession."
"Not exactly, no."
"Fine, then I'd like to make use of your services."
"I don't do business over a wall screen."
"I see."
"It's the nature of my business, Mister Van der Stegen." He paused, spreading his hands. "It's not only a question of security. It has to do with the impressions I get from direct contact. It’s important to what I do.”
Van der Stegen looked troubled, but he nodded his understanding.
Jack clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Okay, you're interested in hiring me. So, let me guess ... it has to do with the subject of our discussion."
"You don't need to be a psychic to work that out, Stein."
"Of course. No, of course I don’t. Okay ... if you still want to talk about it, you'll have to come to my office. We can discuss rates and other considerations there."
Van der Stegen stared out from the wallscreen. "Perhaps you could come here."
"No," said Jack. "I'd prefer to meet you at my offices. Neutral ground. I need to make sure that the impressions are not contaminated by anything."
Van der Stegen continued to look troubled. "All right. If I must. But I have one or two things to take care of first. I can’t get there straight away."
"You have the address. How soon can you get there?"
"Give me three and a half hours. I'll meet you there."
"Fine," said Jack. "Off," he said, cutting the connection and glancing at the wall display to mark the time. Three and a half hours. Maybe he was out at the Residence, maybe he wasn’t, but Van der Stegen didn't believe in wasting time.
He sat back again feeling moderately pleased with himself. There was more than one reason he wanted to use the office. The systems there were rudimentary, making it harder for anyone to break in and monitor their discussions. There was no need for a complete system
in his place of work. It was perfectly sufficient to have it at his apartment. What he’d said to the man was true. He wanted to get close to Joshua Van der Stegen, somewhere on truly neutral ground where he could get a real feel for the guy. The clinical sparseness of his office would help that. Van der Stegen was linked to the Outreach stuff somehow and he needed to find out how. The fact that he had called just when Jack had been scanning the uploaded notes from the handipad didn't escape him either. Things worked like that — always. Always the strangely timed connections driving things forward. Coincidence was more than mere coincidence — always.
"So what are you going to do now?" said Billie from the doorway around a mouthful of ready-cooked. He'd almost forgotten she was there.
"Going to meet with this Van der Stegen guy and find out why everyone's so interested in this handipad of his."
"And what am I supposed to do?"
"Damn it, Billie. I don't know. Stay here. Amuse yourself."
She narrowed her eyes and mouthed the words back at him, silently, chin thrust forward.
Shit. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? "Okay, what do you suggest?" he said resignedly.
She said nothing, just standing there pouting.
"Well?"
"Can't I come with you?"
"No, you can't come with me. I don't want you involved."
"But he's already seen me. He knows I'm with you."
"Sure, but he thinks you're my niece. And that's the way I want it to stay. If I drag you along to the meeting, he's bound to have questions."
She picked at the ready-cooked, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Listen, Billie. Later, when I get back, we're going to sit down together and have a long talk. There are things I want to know about you, things we have to work out."
She glanced up at him suspiciously.
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