The capsule took him several miles out of town to a Romanesque villa atop a low cliff. Three sides of the single-storey building surrounded an elaborate pool and patio area festooned with colourful plants. Several waterfalls spilled down large strategically positioned boulders to splash into the pool. The view down on to the white beach was spectacular, with a needle-profile glide-boat anchored just offshore.
Stubsy Florae was waiting for him by the bar at the side of the pool. Not that anyone called him ‘Stubsy’ to his face; Florae was sensitive about his height. Sensitive to a degree that he didn’t get it changed during rejuvenation therapy because to do that would be to admit that he was a head shorter than most adults and that it bothered him enough to do something about it. He wore knee-length sports trousers and a simple pale-blue shirt open to the waist to reveal a chest covered in hair and a stomach that was starting to bulge. When Troblum appeared he smiled broadly and pushed his oversize sunglasses on to his forehead. His hairline was a lot higher and thinner than Troblum was used to seeing even on External World citizens.
“Hey! My man,” Florae exclaimed loudly. He held his arms out and shifted his hips from side to side. “You been dieting, or what?” He laughed loudly again at his own joke. All his companions smiled.
There were seven of them visible in the pool area, either lying on sunloungers, or sitting at the table in the shallow end of the pool sipping drinks that were mostly fruit and ice. Troblum was always slightly uncomfortable about the girls Stubsy kept at the villa. Not quite clones, but there were standard requirements. For a start they were all a lot taller than their boss, two were even taller than Troblum; naturally they were beautiful, with long silken hair, bodies toned as if they were part of some ancient Olympic athlete squad, and wearing tight bikinis—dressing for dinner here was putting on a pair of shorts and sandals. A low-level field scan revealed them to be enriched with several advanced weapons systems; half of the muscle ridges etched beneath their taut skin was actually force field webbing. If they ganged up on Troblum they could probably overwhelm his biononic defences. They acted like a hybrid of floozies and executive assistants. Troblum knew the image which the whole stable arrangement was supposed to convey, but just didn’t understand why. Stubsy must have a lot more insecurities than just his height.
Troblum’s worn old toga suit rippled round his vast body as he raised his arms. “Do I look smaller?”
“Hey, come on, I’m just fucking with you. What I got, it entitles me.”
“What you claim you’ve got.”
“Man, just shove that stake in a little further, I don’t think it went right through my heart. How are you, man? It’s been a while.” Stubsy gave Troblum a hug, arms reaching almost a third of the way round. Squeezing like he was being reunited with a parent.
“Too long,” Troblum suggested.
“Still got your ship. Sweet ship. You Higher guys, you live the life all right.”
Troblum looked down on Stubsy’s head. “So come and join us.”
“Wowa there! Not quite ready for that. Okay? Man don’t even joke about. I’d need to spend a decade wiping all my bad memories before they’d let me set foot on the Central Worlds. Hey, you want a drink. Couple of sandwiches, maybe. Alcinda, she knows how to boss a culinary unit around.” He lowered his voice and winked. “Not the only thing she knows her way around, huh.”
Troblum tried not to grimace in dismay. “Some beer maybe.”
“Sure sure.” Florae gestured to some chairs beside a table. They sat down while one of the girls brought a large mug of light beer over. “Hey, Somonie, bring it out for my man, will you?”
A girl in a vivid-pink bikini gave a short nod and went inside.
“Where did you find it?” Troblum asked.
“A contact of mine. Hey, have I been retrofitted without a brain and somebody not tell me? If I tell you about my people what’s left for me in this universe?”
“Quite.”
“You know I’ve got a network pumping away down there in the civilized Commonwealth. This week it’s some guy, next it’s another. Who knows where shit is going to appear. You want to stab me in the back, first you got to build yourself your own network.”
“I already have.”
Florae blinked, his best-friends smile fading. “You have?”
“Sure. Hundreds of guys like you.”
“You kill me, you know that?” He laughed, too loud, and raised his glass. “People like me. Ho man!”
“I meant, what planet was it recovered from? My record search confirmed Vic Russell handed it back in to the Serious Crimes Directorate when he returned from the Boongate relocation. It was obsolete by then. The SCD would have disposed of it.”
“Beats me,” Florae said with a shrug. “Guess there were people like you and me around even back in those days.”
Troblum said nothing. The salvager could be right. For all his personality faults and distasteful lifestyle, he had always provided bona fide items. A large number of artefacts in Troblum’s museum had come from Florae.
Somonie returned from the villa carrying a long stable-environment case. It was heavy, her arm muscles were standing proud. She put it the table in front of Troblum and Stubsy.
“Before we go any further,” Troblum said. “I have the SCD serial code. The genuine one. So. Do you still want to open the case?”
“I don’t give a shit what fucking number you think you got, man, this is for real. And hey guess what, you aren’t the only asshole in the Commonwealth that creams himself over this shit. I come to you first because I figure we got a friendship going by now. You want to call me out, you want to crap all over my reputation, and you know what, fatboy, you can roll all the way back to your ship and fuck the hell off this world. My fucking world.”
“We’d better look at it then,” Troblum said. “I’d hate to lose your friendship.” He didn’t care about Stubsy Florae, there were dozens of scavengers just like him. But it was an interesting claim; he’d never really thought there were other collectors outside museums. He wondered idly if they could be persuaded to sell. Perhaps Florae could enquire…
Florae’s u-shadow gave the case a key, and the top unfurled to reveal an antique ion rifle. A protective shield shimmered faintly around it, but Troblum could clearly see the metre-long barrel which ended in a stubby black metal handle that had several attachment points and an open induction socket on the bottom.
“Yeah well,” Stubsy said with a modest grimace, which could almost have been embarrassment. “The other bit is missing. Obviously. But what the fuck, this is the business end, right? That’s what counts.”
“There is no ‘other bit’,” Troblum said. “This is designed to be used by someone in an armour suit; it clips on to the lower arm.”
“No shit?”
It was an effort for Troblum to speak calmly. The weapon certainly looked genuine. “Would you turn off the field, please.”
The shimmer vanished. Troblum’s field function swept across the antique rifle. Deep in the barrel’s casing were long chains of specifically arranged molecules, spelling out a unique code. He licked the sweat from his upper lip. “It’s real,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Yo!” Stubsy slapped his hands together in victory. “Do I ever let you down?”
Troblum couldn’t stop staring at the weapon. “Only in the flesh. Would you like payment now?”
“Man, this is why I love you. Yes. Yes please. I would very much like payment now, please.”
Troblum told his u-shadow to transfer the funds.
“You want to stay for dinner?” Stubsy asked. “Maybe party with some of the girls?”
“Put the protective field back on, please. This humidity is inimical.”
“Sure thing. So, which one do you like?”
“You don’t have any idea how important this artefact is, do you?”
“I know it’s value, man, that’s what counts. The fact some policeman shot an alien with it a thousand
years ago doesn’t exactly ding my bell.”
“Vic Russell worked with Paula Myo. And I know you’ve heard of her.”
“Sure man, this planet’s living nightmare. Didn’t know she was around in those days, too.”
“Oh yes, she was around even before the Starflyer War. And it wasn’t an alien Vic shot, it was Tarlo, a Directorate colleague who had been corrupted by the Starflyer, and betrayed Vic and his wife. Arguably, Tarlo is one of the most important Starflyer agents there was.”
“Ozzie, now I get it: this was the gun that killed him. That connects you.”
“Something like that.”
“So are you interested in genuine alien stuff as well?”
“Anything that is part of the Starflyer’s legacy. Why, have you located another section of its ship?”
Stubsy shook his head. “Fraid not, man. But one of my neighbours; she specializes in weird alien technology and other interesting little chunks. You know, the odd sample that crews on pathfinder missions pick up, stuff you never get to hear about in the Unisphere, stuff ANA and the Navy like to keep quiet. You want I should put you in touch, I got a Unisphere code, she’s very discreet. I’ll vouch for her.”
“Tell her if she ever comes across any Anomine relics I’ll be happy to talk,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t. “Apart from that, I’m not interested.”
“Okay, just thought I’d ask.”
Troblum raised himself to his feet, quietly pleased he didn’t need his biononics to generate a muscle reinforcement field; but then this world had a point-eight standard gravity. “Could you call your capsule for me, please?”
“Money’s in, so sure. This is another reason I like you, man, we don’t have to screw around making up small talk.”
“Exactly.” Troblum picked up the stable-environment case. It was heavy; he could feel a mild sweat break out on his forehead and across his shoulders as he lifted it into the crook of his arm. Hadn’t Stubsy ever heard of regrav?
“Hey, man, you’re the only Higher I know, so I’ve got to like ask you this. What’s ANA’s take on this whole Pilgrimage thing? Is it a bunch of crap, or are we all going to get cluster fucked by the Void?”
“ANA:Governance put out a clear statement on the Unisphere. The Pilgrimage is regrettable, but it does not believe the actions of Living Dream pose any direct physical threat to the Greater Commonwealth.”
“I accessed that, sure. Usual government bullshit then, huh. But… what do you think, man? Should I be stocking up my starship and heading out?”
“Out where, exactly? If the anti-Pilgrimage faction is right, the whole galaxy is doomed.”
“You are just one giant lump of fun, aren’t you? Come on, man, give it to me straight. Are we in the shit?”
“The contacts I have inside ANA aren’t worried, so neither am I.”
Stubsy considered that seriously for a moment before reverting to his usual annoyingly breezy self. “Thanks, man, I owe you one.”
“Not really. But if I find a way to collect, I’ll let you know.”
Troblum puzzled over Stubsy’s question in the capsule back to his ship. Perhaps he’d been unwise to admit to contacts inside ANA, but it was a very general reference. Besides, he didn’t really consider Stubsy to be some kind of agent working for Marius’s opponents—of which there were admittedly many. Of course the Starflyer had procured agents a lot more unlikely than Stubsy. But if Stubsy was an agent for some ANA Faction they were playing a long game, and from what Troblum understood, the Pilgrimage situation would be resolved sooner rather than later. Troblum shook his head and shifted the case slightly. It was an interesting theory, but he suspected he was overanalysing events. Paranoia was healthy, but he wouldn’t like to report that particular suspicion to Marius. More likely it was a genuine concern on Stubsy’s part, one born of ignorance and popular prejudice. That was a lot easier to believe.
The capsule arrived back at Mellanie’s Redemption and Troblum carefully carried the stable-environment case into the starship. He resisted the impulse to open it for one last check, but did stow it in his own sleeping cabin for the flight back to Arevalo.
***
The first thing Araminta knew about the failure was when a shower of sparks sizzled out of the bot’s power arm, just above the wrist multi-socket where tools plugged in. At the time she was on her knees beside the Juliet balcony door, trying to dismantle its seized-up actuator. The unit hadn’t been serviced for a decade at least. When she got the casing open every part of it was covered in grime. She wrinkled her nose up in dismay, and reached for the small all-function electrical toolkit she’d bought from Askahar’s Infinite Systems, a company that specialized in recycled equipment for the construction trade. Her u-shadow grabbed the user instructions from the kit’s memory and filtered them up through her macrocellular clusters into her brain; supposedly they gave her an instinctive ability to apply the little gizmos. She couldn’t even work out which one would stand a chance of cleaning away so much gunk. The cleanser utensils were intended for delicate systems with a light coating of dust. Not this compost heap.
Then as she peered closer at the actuator components bright light flashed across them. She turned just in time to see the last cascade of sparks drizzle down on the pile of sealant sheets stacked up in the corner of the flat’s lounge. Wisps of smoke began to wind upwards. The bot juddered to a halt, as the whole lower segment of its power arm darkened. As she watched, its pocked silvery casing tarnished rapidly from the heat inside.
“Ozzie’s mother!” she yelped, and quickly started stamping on the sheets, trying to extinguish the glowing points which the sparks had kindled. Her u-shadow couldn’t get any access to the bot at all, it was completely dead, and now there was a definite hot-oil smell in the air. Another bot slid away and retrieved an extinguisher bulb from the kitchen. It returned and sprayed blue foam on the defunct bot’s arm. Araminta groaned in dismay as the bubbling fluid scabbed over and dripped on to the floorboards, soaking in. The whole wood-look was coming back in vogue, which was why she’d ordered the bot to abrade the original old floorboards down to the grain. As soon as they were done she was going to spread the sealant sheets down while the rest of the room was decorated and fitted, then she’d finish the boards with a veneer polish to bring out the wavy gold and rouge pattern of the native antwood.
Araminta scratched at the damp stain with her fingernail, but it didn’t seem too bad. She’d just have to get another bot to abrade the wood down still further. There were five of the versatile machines performing various tasks in the flat, all second or third hand; again bought from Askahar’s Infinite Systems.
Now the immediate danger of fire was over her u-shadow called Burt Renik, proprietor of Askahar’s Infinite Systems.
“Well there’s nothing I can do,” he explained after she’d told him what had happened.
“I only bought it from you two days ago!”
“Yes but why did you buy it?”
“Excuse me! You recommended it.”
“Yes, the Candel 8038; it’s got the kind of power level you wanted for heavy duty attachments. But you came to me rather than a licensed dealer.”
“What are you talking about? I couldn’t afford a new model. The Unisphere evaluation library said it was dependable.”
“Exactly. And I sell a lot of refurbished units because of that. But the one you bought had a manufacturer’s decade-warranty that expired over a decade ago. Now with all the goodwill in Ozzie’s universe, I have to tell you: you get what you pay for. I have some newer models in stock if you need a replacement.”
Araminta wished she had the ability to trojan a sensorium package past his u-shadow filters, one that would produce the painburst he’d get from a good smack on the nose. “Will you take part exchange?”
“I could make you an offer on any components I can salvage, but I’d have to bring the bot in to the workshop to analyse what’s left. I can come out, oh… middle of next week, and there woul
d have to be a collection charge.”
“For Ozzie’s sake, you sold me a dud.”
“I sold you what you wanted. Look, I’m only offering to salvage parts as a goodwill gesture. I’m running a business, I want return customers.”
“Well you’ve lost this one.” She ended the call and told her u-shadow never to accept a call from Burt Renik again. “Bloody hell!” Her u-shadow quickly revised her refurbishment schedule, adding on an extra three days to her expected completion date. That assumed she wouldn’t buy a replacement for the 8038. It was a correct assumption. The budget wasn’t working out like she’d originally planned. Not that she was overspending, but the time involved in stripping out all the old fittings and demode decorations was taking a lot longer than her first estimate.
Araminta sat back on the floor and glared at the ruined bot. I’m not going to cry. I’m not that pathetic.
The loss of the 8038 was a blow, though. She’d just have to trust the remaining bots would hold out. Her u-shadow began to run diagnostic checks on them while she tried to detach the abrader mat from the 8038’s foam-clogged multi-socket. The attachment was expensive and, unlike the bot, brand new. Her mood wasn’t helped by the current state of the flat. She had been working on it for five days solid now, stripping it down to bare walls, and gutting the ancient domestic equipment, the whole place looked just terrible. Every surface was covered in fine particles, with sawdust enhancing the whole dilapidated appearance; also not helped by the way any sound echoed round the blank rooms. After tidying things up today, she could start the refurbishment stage. She was sure that would re-fire her enthusiasm. There had been times over the last week when she’d had moments of pure panic, wondering how she could have been so stupid to have gambled everything on this ancient cruddy flat.
The Dreaming Page 20
