Wyrmhole

by Jay Caselberg

Jack suddenly had an idea. If she was as good with information as she seemed ...

  "But, all right, there is something you can do while I'm gone. The upload from the handipad. I've looked through it and can't make much sense out of it. Maybe you can go through it one more time and see if there's anything more useful."

  "Like what?"

  "See if it means anything, if you can tie it to the other stuff you were looking up for me. I want you to see if you can find a way the science stuff links to the history. Can you do that?"

  "Uh-huh," she said slowly.

  "Oh, and one other thing. Is there a way you can block incoming calls unless they're from me? I might need to get in touch with you quickly." He didn't know why he said that, but his gut feeling told him it was right.

  "Easy," said Billie.

  "Good. And while you're at it, see if you can find out anything about this Joshua Van der Stegen. Who he's involved with. Where he got his money. Stuff like that. Can you do that?"

  She nodded. She seemed satisfied, so he grabbed his handipad and moved to get ready. She really did seem as if the challenge he'd set was something that would keep her absorbed. Good. And he could really use the information he'd asked for right about now. Billie's presence was turning out to be a bonus, and with the way his mind appeared to be fogging any connections he could come up with, he could use a fresh viewpoint right now.

  oOo

  He arrived early, giving himself a good half-hour before he expected Van der Stegen to arrive. It gave him the space to become attuned to the office, the surrounds, so they'd appear as nothing more than background noise to his sensitivity. He looked around the blank walls, the Spartan furnishings, the trails of equipment and sucked air through his teeth. Impersonal and functional, just like most of his life. He'd ripped off the stim patches before leaving, but he still felt the chemical coursing through his bloodstream. It would be a couple of hours before the traces of it left. It meant he'd be a little on edge for the meeting. Not good, but there was little choice. The sooner he met with Van der Stegen the better.

  He sat on the edge of the couch and stared at the wall. What was he really doing? He felt like he was losing control, as if events were pushing him in directions he was powerless to shape, but there was nothing particularly new about that. It was about time he started to get hold of his life. The Locality did little to help.

  Mentally, he ticked off the people, trying to trace the connecting threads. William Warburg, the executive guy from Outreach. Francis Gleeson, an Outreach clerk. Gil Ronschke, an Outreach miner. Joshua Van der Stegen, connected in what way? Pinpin Dan – dead, but still connected in some way. And then there was Billie. Somehow she was tied into all of this, but damned if he knew how. Nothing. The names just wouldn't come together. The only common thread was Outreach Industries.

  And Billie was an extra problem.

  And on top of everything, there was the dream. The White-Haired Man. Who or what was he supposed to represent? Something sinister, that much was clear. But what girlfriend? It couldn't mean Billie. There was just no way he could allow himself to accept that as a possibility, unless his unconscious mind was trying to tell him something that he really didn’t want to hear. No, there was no way. Even Jack Stein’s head was not that fucked up.

  The door announced an arrival, interrupting the random chain of thoughts.

  Jack called up the image and pursed his lips. It was Van der Stegen, right on cue, but he wasn't alone. He had another person with him, a woman. A big woman. The sight of her sparked something uncomfortable in his chest, but he let it pass. It was probably just the stims making him edgy again. It wouldn’t so to let paranoia creep into the equation. He let them in.

  Van der Stegen strode into the office and looked about himself imperiously, distaste clearly etched on his severe dark-browed face. The woman entered behind him and took up a position by the door, her hands crossed behind her back. She was large-framed, solid. Reddish, short-cropped hair sat tight above a squared face. She was dressed in dark, loose nondescript clothes, giving her freedom of movement. She looked around the room first, then at Jack. There was a momentary flash of interest in her eyes, then she looked away. Okay, so this was Van der Stegen’s hired muscle.

  "Mister Stein," said Van der Stegen, looking around for somewhere to plant himself. Jack gestured to one of the chairs, and perched himself on the edge of his couch, half standing.

  "Jack. Just call me Jack, Mister Van der Stegen."

  Van der Stegen grunted and sat back on the chair, adjusting his clothing, still taking in his surrounds. Jack's gaze flitted from him to the big woman by the door and back again. The woman seemed content to simply stand there, watching, but there was nothing relaxed about her pose. He got the impression of tautness, tightly flexed steel.

  "So, Mister Van der Stegen," said Jack. "Glad you could make it, you and your friend ... " He let the statement hang meaningfully between them.

  Van der Stegen waved his hand dismissively. "This is one of my personal security staff. One can't be too careful."

  "Right," said Jack. He watched her for a moment or two before turning his attention back. "So, what can I do for you, Mister Van der Stegen?"

  Van der Stegen was staring at the simple desk. Jack followed his gaze. The small blue bottle belonging to Gil Ronschke sat at one corner. Damn, he'd forgotten he'd left it there.

  "As we discussed, Jack, I am interested in determining who removed my handipad and why. It's important that this remains quiet."

  "That's understood. I'll want a thousand a day and, of course, expenses."

  "Yes, yes," said Van der Stegen, as if he could barely be bothered with such trivialities. Jack suddenly wished he'd said a bigger number. "You mentioned other interests."

  "Yes, that's right. But first, do you have any idea who this person on the shuttle might have been?" Reaching for someone he could slot to the story, Jack remembered the man in the out-of-place clothes who he'd seen on his shuttle ride to New. Using what he could recall, he described the man.

  Van der Stegen glanced at the woman by the door, who gave a quick, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Van der Stegen turned his head slowly to face Jack. "That's one of the reasons why I'm engaging you, Stein. The person you describe is like no one I know. It doesn't seem as if he's familiar to Marianna either." He looked down at his coat and brushed an invisible something from the lapel. "Now, what of these other things you mentioned?"

  "Before we get to that, I need to know a couple of things. Who might be interested in the contents of your handipad? Who would have access to it?"

  Van der Stegen fixed him with a hard look. "And what precisely do you know of the contents?"

  "Nothing at all," said Jack evenly. "But clearly they're important to someone, otherwise why would they bother to take it?"

  Van der Stegen rubbed his top lip with one finger, the same gesture he'd used in the earlier call and looked at him appraisingly. After a moment's consideration, he continued.

  "Yes, all right. I suppose that's a possibility. It could have been sheer opportunism, but you're probably right. Some of the companies I'm involved with have high-level research projects. I like to keep myself abreast of their progress, and so I carry around detailed notes. Perhaps you might think it a little foolish, but that's the way I work. We all have our own ways of doing things. I'm simply a creature of habit. Suffice it to say that the content of those notes is of no real interest to you, Mister Stein."

  "Perhaps not,” said Jack. “But we have to make certain assumptions. Why would someone want to take it?"

  Van der Stegen sighed. "I suppose industrial espionage is always a possibility, but I doubt it. There is more than one type of opportunism after all. There's simple opportunism and there's opportunism with intent. More likely it was the former, not knowing what they might find."

  “So,” said Jack. “Did you notice it was missing?”

  Van der Stegen looked uncomfortable. “No. No I didn’t. I’
ve been busy with a couple of other things lately.”

  "All right. It can’t have been missing for long though.”

  Jack filed that away for later, nodding to himself. Apparently his gut feeling were right again. Gleeson had not been telling him the entire truth about how he’d come by the device. It was just all too convenient. If Van der Stegen carried the thing around with him, making notes, he was likely to miss it pretty quickly. The fact that he hadn’t, pointed to a relatively small time window.

  He continued. “And who would have had access to the handipad?"

  "No one I can think of. There's the household staff of course, but they go through rigorous screening and I know most of them, personally."

  So, Van der Stegen could afford the luxury of actual staff, but Jack knew that already. He'd seen the house. Nothing new or surprising there.

  "And visitors?"

  "We have very few." Van der Stegen shook his head. "No, most of my business dealings occur away from the Residence. Very occasionally, I hold a meeting at the house. Apart from that, there's not much call for visitors."

  "What about your daughter?"

  "What about her?" he snapped, narrowing his eyes.

  "As you already know, I've met your daughter. I just think we should consider — "

  "What? That Tasha took it? I resent that suggestion. Perhaps you should concentrate your energies elsewhere, Mister Stein." Again, the motion with finger and upper lip, then he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and made to stand, but Jack waved him down.

  "I'm not suggesting she took it, Mister Van der Stegen." Though Van der Stegen's reaction had definitely pushed it up on the list of Jack's possibilities now. "Rather, perhaps she might have had a visitor, someone who might just be such an opportunist."

  "I suppose it's a possibility, but I don't believe it's likely. And I would prefer it if Tasha was left strictly out of this."

  "Fine." He'd deal with that line of enquiry his own way and his own way would definitely involve asking the daughter a couple of pointed questions, but Van der Stegen didn't have to know that at this stage.

  Van der Stegen stood and crossed to the desk. He reached for the bottle.

  "Mister Van der Stegen, I'd rather you didn't — "

  Too late. Van der Stegen had picked up the bottle and was turning it over in his fingers.

  "Nice little piece." Then he turned and saw the expression on Jack's face. "Is there a problem?"

  "Nothing. It belongs to a client, that's all."

  "Humph," said Van der Stegen and returned the bottle to the desk. He stared down at it for a moment, traced his fingers up one side again, oblivious to Jack's grimace. "All right, that's settled. How long before I expect to hear something from you," he said without turning around.

  "I may need to contact you, perhaps talk to some of your people."

  "That shouldn't be a problem." Van der Stegen withdrew a card from inside his coat and placed it carefully on the desk beside the bottle. "Is there anything else?"

  "What do you know about Outreach Industries, Mister Van der Stegen?"

  The slight stiffening of the man's shoulders and the flicker of movement from by the door did not go unnoticed.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Well, you mentioned industrial espionage. It's just a name that came up recently."

  Van der Stegen turned slowly, glancing around the walls. "Is this place secure?"

  Jack nodded.

  Van der Stegen hesitated. "This information is to be kept strictly to yourself. It's not too widely known, but I have quite a sizeable interest in Outreach. It's more as what you'd call a silent partner. I suppose it doesn't hurt that you know that, but how you came by that information — "

  "— is my business for now, Mister Van der Stegen. It's just useful to know my sources are reliable."

  Van der Stegen shoved his hands in his pockets, but not before rubbing at his lips again, now firmly pursed. He gave Jack a long hard stare, but apparently was satisfied, because he nodded.

  “I’d prefer that knowledge didn’t become public either. I have other concerns in the Locality that might see that involvement as a conflict of interest. I can trust your discretion?”

  “Hey, you’re the client, Mister Van der Stegen,” said Jack. “Client privilege and all that.”

  He nodded. "All right. Is that it?"

  "Yes, Mister Van der Stegen, that's it for now. I'll be in touch."

  Van der Stegen and the woman left him sitting there, watching the door as it shut behind them.

  Something about the woman was nagging at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was more than the sense of unease she invoked in him. There was the barely disguised movement when he'd mentioned Outreach and ... something else. That flicker of almost recognition as she'd entered. That could easily be explained, he supposed. If she was on Van der Stegen's security staff, then she could easily have remembered him from the household security monitors. Van der Stegen was sure to have had him checked out before coming. He didn't recognize her from anywhere else, he was almost certain. He remembered faces, and hers just didn’t trigger anything.

  Later. He could worry about that later.

  He’d received nothing in particular from Van der Stegen himself. There were just the normal impressions that anybody could work out for themselves. No need for extra abilities. The man was used to command and power. He liked to be in control, and he expected people to fall into line with his wishes. Jack didn’t particularly like the man from his first assessment, but then he didn’t have to. The guy was paying him, and he might just help to get him closer to the Outreach problem.

  He wondered if Billie had made any progress with the Van der Stegen notes. He put in a call. As he waited, he wandered over to the desk and slid Van der Stegen's card around and around with one finger. He looked at the bottle that Van der Stegen had so thoughtlessly handled and frowned. Van der Stegen was not to know the potential impact of that casual touch, he supposed. Just as well he'd done with the bottle anyway.

  There was no response from his apartment.

  "Dammit, Billie. Answer," he breathed. He tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Where the hell was she? Something slithered past the depths of his abdomen.

  He'd told her he might need to get through to her. Either she wasn't there or ... she wasn't answering. For some reason, she wasn't answering.

  He slipped the bottle into one pocket and Van der Stegen's card into another. There was nothing left for him to do in the office anyway.

  oOo

  The door to his apartment was unlocked. A quick scan quickly told him Billie was well and truly gone. There was no sign of her. Somebody had been there, somebody with enough of a presence to scare her away. Either that, or she'd been taken. A quick guilt-filled chill raced through his chest, making it feel hollow and empty. Okay, Stein, you’re over-reacting. Maybe she'd gone off somewhere on her own.

  No. Remembering the way she'd fiddled the locking program to block his access, Jack doubted she'd just simply have wandered off. So, where the hell was she? Why would she have a reason to leave?

  He walked warily through the rooms, one after the other, looking for some sort of sign. The place looked undisturbed, as if there'd been nobody there at all, let alone Billie. It was too ordered. Somebody had definitely been there, somebody who'd taken a lot of trouble to make sure things looked as if no one had been. If they'd been able to get past Billie's security, then what else had they been into? He suddenly felt violated. This was his place. No one came here. He continued scanning the rooms to see if he could tell what had been touched.

  "Messages," he said, standing in the center of the living room with his fingers laced behind his neck taking long, deep breaths.

  Billie's voice floated out of the wall. "Uncle Jack. Got bored with that stuff. Too easy. Had to leave. Gone to see some old friends."

  Smart girl. Maybe too smart to be Billie. He played the message again
, but it was Billie's voice all right. The way she emphasized certain words was all too familiar. Anybody could fake a voice, but it was harder to get the nuances just right. So he was right; something had scared her away.

  Gone to see some old friends. But Billie didn't have any old friends as far as he knew. Unless ... Old friends.

  Perhaps she'd left him something else.

  "Next," he said. Nothing. He didn't even know how to access the stuff she'd been working on, but he didn't really have time for that now. He just needed her back.

  "Clear messages," he said. Without even bothering to check the accesses to the system — whoever had been there wouldn't have left traces anyway — he headed out the door.

  There was only one place to look. The far end of Old. The seedy end. The place where everything fell apart.

  He had no idea exactly where to look and that meant once more trusting to his instincts. He already knew enough about Billie's past and there were events from his own experiences to point to potential dangers at the far end of Old. Jack wasn't sure whether he should be more concerned about what might be down there waiting for her, or what had made her head the way it was in the first place, what had made her seek refuge in Old. He had to be right about that. Barely bothering to take the time to lock his door, he headed out to the shuttle stop.

  It was getting late and when the shuttle finally arrived, it was nearly empty. The other pair who rode toward Old didn't seem in the mood for conversation, or for anything really. They huddled in opposite corners of the car and avoided each other's gaze. That suited Jack just fine. He tried to remember the last time he'd been right down to the bottom end of the Locality, but it was long ago. There was just no good reason to go down there.

  He alighted and stood watching as the shuttle crawled away from him, shuddering as it dealt with the intermittent flow of power. He'd forgotten what it was really like down here. Darkness swept across the rising walls in stuttering waves. This was dark unlike the muted tones to be found in newer areas. Here the ceiling panels flickered, half capturing the displays, flashes of partial images strobing across the surface, then just as rapidly, fading, or blinking out altogether. The colors illuminated crumbling walls, a fractured shadow play that worked deep in his unease. The pop and creak of buildings nearing the end of their useful life came from all around. His fellow passengers had left him several stops back and he stood alone in the middle of the street. From every direction came noise and movement — for in the midst of death was life.