Citizen Pariah (Unreal Universe Book 3)

by Lee

  “I do not know what to say, Father.” Naoko whispered quietly, tears stealing her voice.

  “Say you are all right.” Tomas prompted. “Explain why you are on a spaceship and why your boyfriend is down here, possibly blowing up The Palazzo.”

  “I! What! Oh … oh no!” Naoko put a hand to her forehead.

  “I am joking, of course. Garth Nickels was merely present for the explosions.” Tomas grinned when his daughter wasn’t looking. He would’ve preferred any other boyfriend in the entire Universe for Naoko, but there were many things beyond his control.

  Although she was ‘safe’ and could talk freely, Naoko knew that he was not. He was plain old Tomas Kamagana now, a pottering old EuroJapanese senior who worked in a silly avatar-farm that promised to speed up your bandwidth. He wasn’t Tomas Kamagana, Minister of Avatars. That entire Ministry had been Sigma’d. There could never be such an institution in any form, ever again. He was in danger every second they chattered across the stars. Her mind still boggled at the monumental hack he’d achieved merely to talk to her. “I … I am safe, Father. Now.”

  Tomas nodded, choosing to puff on his pipe over comment. The aromatic flavor did nothing to soothe his mood. ‘Agricultural ship’. ‘Livestock’. Thousands upon thousands of brilliant Latelians left the system every year to go and work for far better wages for companies that truly appreciated them, but there had always been a single Conglomerate, a single man who’d … who’d cut a deal to steal the best and brightest. To farm their worlds for –not merely genius- but … more. A deal that Alyssa Doans hadn’t known about until it was too late, but who also hadn’t blinked an eye when the benefits were understood.

  Naoko had been taken by none other than Jordan Bishop, damn his black, greedy heart. “Make them turn you around. It is plain they made a mistake by leaving you your proteus. If you have not already done so, daughter, take control of the vessel. You may be without your ‘LINK, but I am certain your prote … you … are outfitted well enough for the task.”

  Naoko continued, stammering nervously. “I … it’s … it is complicated, Father. He. Jordan Bishop made an offer, sa. The return of the others in exchange for my willing participation.”

  Blue smoke dribbled out of Tomas’ mouth. His mind was a blank slate, an empty prote.

  “I have a digital copy of the contract, complete with our verbal agreements. It is binding as far as such things can be, Father. I am uploading it to a buoy now. It will take some time to reach you through proper channels.” Naoko’s hand flickered across the keys.

  “Jordan Bishop is giving up all that he has of ours for you?” Tomas’ eyes narrowed to pinpoints. He knew Bishop through his Family. He’d only ever heard of the man through rants from his Father, but memory stressed Bishop never gave more than he received.

  Naturally, the NorthAMC businessman knew what he had in Naoko. But the reasons weren’t there; a man like Jordan Bishop would not use the system’s –possibly the Universe’s- greatest programmer for something as simple as AI personality coding or software design. A man like Bishop, a Conglomerate as eternally endless as BishopCo, held enormous secrets. What … how could one woman –his daughter or not- be of such insurmountable benefit alone?

  “Yes, sa.” Naoko dipped her head. “Even if it is a lie, it is something I must do. You understand, don’t you?”

  Tomas thought of why he’d fled his world, his people, his old life. That journey had taken him to Latelyspace, the only system capable of guaranteeing his safety. With their barely repressed hostility towards outsiders and their ironclad deal with Trinity to defend themselves however they saw fit, none of his enemies had ever thought to look for him in Latelyspace. Oh yes, Tomas understood very well having to do things that needed doing, regardless of risk, irrespective of success.

  He returned his daughter’s stoic nod with one of his own. “The chance must be taken. It is a risk, Daughter. Jordan Bishop is a hundred –no, a thousand- times worse than Ashok Guillfoyle ever managed. He is old, too, Daughter. Four hundred years or more, and infinitely cunning. You must tread warily. I cannot think what he wants you for, but it is almost certainly not a good thing.”

  “Father,” Naoko demanded, mock-angrily, “do you think I am a fool?” She burst into laughter at her Father’s beset-upon look. “I am the greatest programmer the Universe has ever seen. I know more than he thinks I do already.” Images of Huey’s AI core spun and flashed in her mind, the power and fluidity of that inorganic life a siren’s lure. Through his modifications of the baffle-sphere, the rewritten programming of both the Main and his own sphere, Naoko knew more about Huey –and AI minds- than any other being save perhaps Trinity Itself. The only thing eluding her was the power source. “If I am required to even touch one of their ‘computers’, I will be safe.”

  Tomas found his eyes narrowing again, this time at his daughter’s impenetrable confidence. This was a side of her he’d never seen. What had happened to her in the last two days to make her thus? Still, that confidence wasn’t misplaced; given time and enough caution –both of which Naoko possessed, to’ve remained hidden in plain sight- there was nothing the girl couldn’t accomplish. “Be safe, then, daughter.”

  “I will, Father mine.” Naoko bowed her head. “If it is wise, I will contact you when I am … when I am at my new job.”

  Tomas returned the bow. “I will await, Naoko.”

  The comm ended.

  xxx

  Tomas stared thoughtfully at the blank Screen. It was highly unlikely that anyone in the government would find his hack or the access codes he’d left behind. Ironically, the system Tomas had used to call his daughter was eerily similar to the x-and-c-DEC hack employed by Ashok Guillfoyle. Truthfully, the only difference lay in intent; Tomas had left his backdoor codes in place, preparing for the chance that his identity was discovered. His purpose had been to assist in a sudden and precipitate need to vacate Latelyspace with all due haste. The charlatan’s purpose had been destruction.

  By now, the codes were buried beneath thousands of layers of modified and re-engineered avatars. They wouldn’t be undetectable, just hard to find, especially now.

  The bulk of the Chairwoman’s intelligence gathering assets would almost certainly be involved in dealing with rebellion. Tomas imagined that the majority of Hospitalis would accept the Chairwoman’s law without hesitation, but, just as likely, there were hundreds of millions of ‘over privileged’ Latelians primed and ready to explode. The BCUs and other groups would be hard pressed to maintain even the illusion of control. No doubt, there were already an unthinkable number of ‘accidental deaths’ throughout the cities. A tragedy, for certain. They would be sparing very little effort on watching comm traffic right then.

  The same could be said of the OverCommander’s forces. Between this newest debacle at the Palazzo and the various elements left unaccounted for from the Museum Crisis, Vasily’s intelligence groups would be more than a little preoccupied. They were or should be looking for Harry Bosch, the insane cyborg al-Taryin, the ultimate cause of the Gunboys demise and the source of the inexplicable explosions throughout the Cities. They would have even less inclination to hunt down the source of one man placing calls outside their solar system.

  Tomas sighed miserably. He had avoided doing as he was thinking about doing for as long as he’d been on Hospitalis. It wasn’t something he wanted to do but it was something that needed doing.

  His daughter –as bold and as intelligent as she was- was nevertheless terribly naïve about the world was outside the borders of Latelyspace. Eternally ravaged by Dark Ages, Trinityfolk –to a large extent- were angry. Angry and afraid and –recognizable in the violence boiling up from the Hotel Hospitalis on a non-stop basis- eager to hurt. The higher up the chain you went, the worse it was. The worse that anger and fear was, the better it was hidden beneath the veneer of civility, the mask of honor. Jordan Bishop was deadly. He was dangerous. One of the oldest Trinitymen alive and certainly the most powerful,
Jordan was so far beyond ‘human’ it was a mistake to trust the man even when he answered to his own name.

  More than anything, it was what protected Bishop that worried Tomas. He was terrified to his very soul Naoko would be lost forever the moment Spur’s cold eyes fell on his lovely daughter.

  So while Naoko was doing as she must, he, Tomas, was going to do as he needed. Just as Naoko was worth three thousand lives, three thousand lives were a small price to pay to ensure she stayed alive and out of the Emperor’s eyes.

  Tomas sighed again. It was time. He placed another call, this one passing effortlessly through the Q-Tunnel’s communication lines.

  xxx

  Alistair Katainn stared in unthinking awe at the lined, wrinkly, ancient man’s face as it hovered before him. He slapped the nude woman until she rolled off the bed and ran to the bathroom, shrieking and weeping uncontrollably. He hollered at her to shut the door and threatened her with her life if she even thought about opening the door until she was told otherwise.

  Alistair Katainn propped himself up, adjusted his shirt, and nodded. In purest, ancient Japanese, he spoke. “Never in a million years would we have looked for you in Latelyspace, Elder Kamagana.”

  Tomas snorted, returning in the same language. He’d worried he’d forgotten the ancient language, carefully, painstakingly kept alive through Dark Ages and the laziness of spoken word, but it’d come back quickly. “Elder.”

  “We looked for you for decades, Elder.” Alistair marveled at how old Tomas looked. Without regular gene treatments, this is what he would look like in a manner of years. The Elder Katainn wondered if The Kamagana felt as old as he looked. “We assumed you had died during your flight across the stars. Latelyspace.”

  “As I intended, sa.” Tomas blinked and laughed. Alistair would have no idea what the honorific meant. “Everything was according to plan.”

  “You were always a very meticulous person, even when we were boys.” Alistair admitted. He tilted his head to one side, wondering aloud, “Was it you that killed one of my children a short time ago? Injiri Katainn?”

  Tomas had recognized the name amidst the Offworld Roster. He’d hoped for a coincidence, but should’ve known better. With Latelyspace now in the middle of Trinity’s vast domain, one or more Elders from Yellow Dog would want to exploit the people. With ‘open borders’, the temptation for new power would’ve been irresistible.

  He shook his head. “From the news report that I saw, Elder, he was killed by a meteorite. I can forward you the details, if you like. I assume you sent your son here to meet someone?”

  “But of course.” Alistair had already seen the reports. He’d exchanged information on a few tidbits to his contact in Latelyspace for the contents of the coroner’s reports. Meteorite. Whatever had killed Injiri had been mortal, at least in theory. They’d spent more than a king’s ransom to outfit their warrior with the gear necessary to defeat a God soldier, money now wasted. He had ninety-nine more children, most of them men, but the money, ah, the wasted coin was a true burr in his behind. “But now that we have you, and we know you are there, you will arrange transport of Yellow Dog men and material.”

  “I will not.” Tomas gazed unabashedly at his old friend Alastair. They’d grown up together, gone to school together. They’d spent as much time together as possible given the … nature… of their lives, and then, one day, it’d come to an abrupt, screeching halt. A combination of greed, fear and jealousy had driven the other Yellow Dog Elder Families down a dark, desperate path, one –hopefully- severing all but the deepest of ties to the Emperor-for-Life. If their eternal monarch had forgiven the traitorous Families, he’d exposed his existence for nothing and Naoko would truly be lost to the Yellow Dogs.

  Alastair looked nearly the same. Or, he looked at ninety as he’d started looking at fifteen. The miracle of modern genetic tampering, one of the few things outlawed in Latelyspace; you were born with your allotted years and that was all. Tomas was glad for that law.

  Anger warred with amusement on Alastair’s face. He dug around beside his bed for a cigarette and lit up, trying to come up with reasons why Tomas Kamagana, the sole remaining Kamagana of the most ancient Family Line, would reach out now, after so very, very long being hidden. And in Latelyspace! The last free system in all of creation! Not even Emperor-for-Life controlled systems were truly free. Even they had to deal with interruptions and interventions from Trinity and Its Enforcers, or Turing Regulators, or the Army.

  But Latelyspace! Alastair pursed his lips around the cigarette thoughtfully for a minute before exhaling a languid curl of smoke. “Why have you contacted me? Why have you called The Katainn, Elder Kamagana? What could you possibly need?”

  Tomas laughed at that, this time heartily. He hadn’t spoken Japanese for most of his entire adult life, and had certainly never thought to hear himself be called Elder Kamagana. It was a title won by default, by being the only one to survive the … the purge of Kamaganas, a mass culling perpetrated by the other Yellow Dogs out of fear. The ensuing years between his flight from Jade Song and his life in Latelyspace had dimmed that world to a faint memory.

  It all came back to him. His Father’s anger over the suspicion and fear from the other Elders, their insistence that they, the Kamaganas, reapportion their wealth and power through all the layers and levels of Yellow Dog. Their shouts that it was unseemly that Kamagana should own so much, should possess so many worlds’ worth of activities when others were made to feel lucky to have a single world.

  The night of blood, when vat-grown assassins had fallen onto Jade Song, the peaceful homeworld of the Kamagana bloodline. Descended, dropping that silent world into a madness of death, betrayal and honor shattered, scything down thousands of innocents like blades of grass.

  Tomas remembered escaping, thinking himself the luckiest young man in the entire world. How he’d stolen a small ship and –miracle of miracles- made it to the next world over, where he’d acquired false papers and a new name. It hadn’t taken long to realize he’d been allowed to flee, and most probably at Alastair Katainn’s suggestion.

  And all over blood, the very blood that’d soaked Jade Song’s wondrous gardens and serene homes.

  Yellow Dog was an assortment of noble families, a genetic hierarchy capable of tracing –quite clearly and easily- back to the oldest families involved in the First Exodus. Yellow Dog was a criminal organization, certainly, but a time-honored one hewing to ancient traditions espoused by those long-dead ancestors.

  Ancient Families, all, but one family above all others could trace their existence back to one particular person. A man above men, a god before all others, the Emperor-for-Life Etienne Marseilles. The Kamagana line had made the claim thousands of years ago, before the last Dark Age, but a claim never proven, never endorsed, and thus, baseless.

  Then, Darkness settled over the Universe, choking the life out of nearly everything as it always did. Following a resurgence of the light and the resurrection of the human species once again, though, the Emperor-for-Life had verified the claim, citing the Kamaganas as –not just distant cousins as He had for all the other Yellow Dog Families- but children. There were voice recordings, banned by the Yellow Dog Elders, musings from the Emperor about how very proud he was of his Kamaganas for being so pure, so righteous, so … so much better than the beasts running behind them in the pack.

  Thus had begun the internecine war between Kamagana and the other Families.

  They’d let him live because he was a child of the Emperor.

  They’d let him live because all of Kamagana’s holdings were locked behind impenetrable, AI-controlled, DNA-sequenced locks. Only a true heir could access the inestimable wealth and power. Tomas wondered at that, tried to imagine what that would be like after so long; with most of the Kamagana’s holdings and interests run by extremely sophisticated AI minds, every aspect of the Family’s power would’ve continued to grow, with or without human guidance.

  Tomas puffed on his pi
pe. A power to rival the Chairwoman’s beckoned hungrily.

  A wry smile faded quickly from Tomas’ old face. During his darkest times, with Maurna sick and going mad from cancer and his secrets, he’d been tempted. A simple thing, to flee with his sick wife and daughter, and with no one questioning the abrupt disappearance.

  Tomas inhaled from his pipe to hide his dithering.

  Alastair reiterated the question. He was irritated, but unwilling to end the conversation. If his old and ancient friend wanted to waste time smiling every now and then during a call spanning galaxies, he was more than welcome to do so.

  “Do you or your … colleagues … have associates in BishopCo?”

  Alastair snorted at the question. “Of course we do, Tomas. His loyalty tests grow ever more impressive, but we, the Yellow Dogs, have had thousands upon thousands of years of …”

  “Spare me the dialogue, sa.” Tomas waved his pipe in the air. “I am old, not senile. I have forgotten nothing about Yellow Dog.” He smiled brazenly at the anger blossoming on Alastair’s pale face, then smiled again at how that had to rankle the third oldest Elder Family man; more European than Japanese, the Katainn Family could –at best- trace their lineage back to a thousand years after the first Exodus. He was pure Japanese. There was no weak blood in him.

  “Tell me how you think you are safe now we know where you are?” Alastair demanded angrily, his voice echoing in his own ears. The stupid whore in the bathroom banged her head on something and fell silent. “We may not have assets there, old man, but we will come. You will assist us. Yellow Dog will have a presence in the last free system.”

  Tomas continued as though Alastair hadn’t interrupted. “Jordan Bishop has acquired a woman of singular talent, Alastair, a woman who requires subtle protection. A woman not to be approached directly by any member of any Family from Yellow Dog or any of the assembled host of organizations associated in any way, shape or form with you and yours. She must be guided away from the android at all costs.”