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Absorption: Ragnarok v. 1 (Ragnarock 1)

Page 27

by John Meaney


  ‘—I’ll see you soon, Stef. Endit.’

  The virtual holo snapped out of existence just as Stef had been about to say something.

  Stargonier wanted to kill him. Or something.

  But she stopped herself. Because this was a public place? Or for some other reason?

  Not believing his own actions - this was a kind of social daring that was new to him - Roger hurried down the yellow ramp to the Luculentus, who was rubbing his face but looking much better.

  ‘Sir? Are you all right?’

  ‘Absolutely. Thank you for asking, young man. The ability to tailor one’s own neurocognitive states for recreation is not for the unskilled.’

  ‘Does that mean you can make yourself feel well again?’

  Normal colour was returning to the man’s face.

  ‘It does indeed. As you can see.’

  ‘Er, may I ask what you talked to the Luculenta about?’

  ‘Which Luculenta in particular?’

  ‘Just now.’ Roger pointed. ‘Standing there a few moments ago.’

  ‘I think you’re mistaken. Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs to take care with altered states.’

  ‘I—Maybe.’ Roger smiled, remembering the effect of the warm wine, and exaggerating it in his mind to deflect suspicion. ‘That could be the case.’

  ‘You weren’t looking for company during the Festival?’

  ‘Er, no, sir. I’ve friends waiting for me.’

  ‘Then enjoy the rest of the week.’

  ‘And you, sir.’

  Roger walked away, heading for the mirror ramp. Clearly the Luculenta was dangerous, but perhaps mostly to her own kind. Still he would need to stay well back in case she—

  Danger.

  Overhead were three distant itches - that was how he felt them - and when he looked, he could just make out the hovering teardrop outlines. Belonging to the Luculenta?

  Regardless, the devices were complex, not legal, and too powerful for him to waste time deciding whether they were armed.

  Beneath his smartlenses, golden fire grew.

  Then he commanded the lenses to clear as he let loose. The release of energy felt wonderful.

  And when it was done, he made a move - not to follow the Luculenta, but to get out of Parallaville as fast as possible.

  Sunadomari crouched over his smoking, fallen spydrops. The case had just become more complex. If there had not been one of his friends among the murder victims, this would have made him smile, enjoying the challenge.

  Now what?

  He could access the surrounding buildings’ memories using peacekeeper privileges, and he could try for SatScan, although there were so many smartmiasmas and holos in the sky for Festival, there was no guarantee of clear data. But he was aware that Hailey Recht, Skein designer, had fallen. Perhaps the normal methods of tracking were insufficient. If the enemy, whoever it was, could monitor Skein enquiries, then interrogating the buildings would send a clear warning; and if the enemy could alter Skein data without logging it, then whatever surveillance logs he found would be worthless.

  His spydrops were not strictly legal. Given that, there was no point in keeping them as forensic samples. He stood up and commanded the quickstone ground to swallow up the destroyed devices, dissolving them.

  When they were gone, he looked up into the sky, requesting SatScan access, not specifying a person to search for, just an aerial view of Lucis City. Then he changed his mind, realizing that even this much could be dangerous if the enemy was as capable as he suspected. He closed the link down.

  But his spydrops had not perished because of someone with Skein mastery. Their design was proprietary all the way down, so the attack had been more basic and generic than tricky code. There was only one kind of person he knew capable of inducing destructive resonance in any kind of device.

  And if young Roger Blackstone was an undercover Pilot, what were the chances that his parents were, as well?

  There was no sign of Stef, Rick or the others near the mannequin; but Alisha was there, holding a jantrasta-coated apple from which she had taken a single bite.

  ‘Hey,’ said Roger.

  ‘You’re not with the guys?’

  ‘No. What have you been up to?’

  Merrymakers swirled around them. Music played, cheerful and loud, with none of the discordant tones that seemed linked to danger.

  ‘Talking to Rafaella Stargonier, in actual person.’

  ‘The Luculenta? She’s here for Festival?’

  ‘Sure. She was asking about Dr Helsen, but if she’s researched in Skein then she already knows more than I do, because I’ve never bothered.’

  ‘So you’re still trying to get this Stargonier person to come and give a talk?’

  ‘Her precondition still applies. I mean, about me having to produce some original work just to tempt her.’

  ‘And when’s the talk due to take place? If it happens, I mean.’

  ‘The day after Festival.’

  That would give him time to get home and tell Dad everything. There was something dangerous about the Luculenta, and he did not want Alisha to be at risk. Not only was she his friend - her father Xavier had done Dad a favour, allowing him to shield against the new peacekeeper scanners.

  There was a way to guarantee that Rafaella Stargonier would deliver that talk, provided she was serious about doing it if Alisha produced original research. Perhaps it was a way to pin the Luculenta down to a known place and time.

  ‘My Dad knows some people, sort of.’ He tapped his turing, then pointed at Alisha. ‘I’m not sure if mentioning his name will do any good, but at least you now know they exist.’

  ‘A research institute?’ Alisha blinked, scanning virtual holos: the data he had just sent, plus more. ‘I see what you mean. They’re legitimate, but you wouldn’t find them easily. Makes you wonder how they get their funding.’

  Roger wished he had thought of that. Perhaps he should have talked to Dad before offering this much - but he had done it now.

  Alisha was blinking fast, her eyes focused on a point one metre in front of her. Her throat and lips moved, and then she nodded.

  Finally, she said aloud: ‘Thank you, Ms Weissmann. We’ll be right there.’

  After a final blink, she focused on Roger and smiled.

  ‘There’s someone in the building, despite the time. Obviously not the kind to celebrate Festival.’

  ‘You just talked to the institute?’

  ‘Sure. Shall we walk to someplace an aircab can land?’

  ‘Uh—’

  ‘You are coming with me, right?’

  ‘I . . .’ What he wanted was to sleep. ‘Sure.’

  Alisha looked down at the jantrasta apple she was still holding. She dropped it, watched the ground swallow it, licked her fingertips, then returned her attention to Roger.

  ‘And while we fly, you can explain to me what Zajinets have to do with realspace hyperdimensions.’

  ‘Um. Right. Okay.’

  They alighted from the aircab, in a pedestrian precinct that was otherwise deserted. Then the aircab whispered up into the air, and disappeared behind a tall quickglass tower at the precinct’s far end. Roger turned to the ochre building in front of them: quickstone pillars with motile scrollwork, ceramic doors that resembled antique wood, floating brass glowglobes. Old, discreet, well-financed.

  ‘No name sign,’ said Alisha.

  The main doors curled open.

  ‘Hello,’ said a white-haired woman. ‘I’m Stella Weissmann. Do come in, you two.’

  Her eyes were bright, her stance erect. Her forehead and scalp held no hint of wires or studs, but for a non-Luculenta she broadcast a lot of charisma.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alisha. ‘We won’t take up much of your time.’

  ‘A chat would be very welcome, in fact. This way.’

  There was a foyer of marble quickstone, then a corridor containing display cases, and finally Ms Weissmann’s office, with a faux woode
n desk and chairs. Everyone sat.

  ‘So you’re interested in our alien friends?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Alisha. ‘Certainly in their reputed ability to teleport.’

  ‘Well, this is the Zajinet Research Institute, so you’re in the right place.’

  ‘I think we are.’ Alisha smiled at her. ‘Can I ask, is Zajinet teleportation a real phenomenon, or is it something else?’

  ‘What other kinds of thing were you thinking of, Alisha? Is it okay if I call you Alisha?’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. Uh, confabulation among witnesses, maybe caused by neurochemical imbalance. Aliens able to mess with human biochemistry are more likely than those with an ability to manipulate spacetime.’

  ‘That’s true, but the Zajinets’ known abilities mean they’re rather different from the average, don’t you think?’

  ‘There is that. Do you think that they can make short hops through mu-space without using ships? Is that it?’

  ‘We’ve researched that possibility among all known sightings, ’ said Weissmann. ‘Some of the translocation events - that’s our term - have taken place amid smart buildings, leaving full surveillance data, and not just here on Fulgor. There has been no indication of the energy spillage one would expect from a mu-space transition.’

  ‘Then it’s just a coincidence, that they can teleport in realspace and fly mu-space ships?’

  ‘No, my dear.’ Weissmann’s eyes were wonderfully intelligent. ‘I think they grasp spacetime physics in a way none of us has, not even Pilots.’

  Roger did not like the glance she gave him.

  She can’t suspect.

  ‘Pilots can’t teleport,’ said Alisha. ‘If they could, there’d be at least a rumour of it by now.’

  ‘Which implies, my dear, that an ability to function in mu-space is not sufficient. But you’re aware of the macroscopic superposition of Zajinet mentality. Parallel identities in every individual.’

  ‘Um, sure.’ Alisha’s eyelids flickered as she accessed data. ‘Very . . . different.’

  ‘If Pilots had minds like that’ - Weissmann smiled at Roger - ‘perhaps they could do the same. Or perhaps they couldn’t. We truly don’t know.’

  ‘But the Zajinets transport themselves among the Calabi-Yau dimensions?’

  ‘It’s the only hypothesis that remains. They don’t leave our universe, they don’t travel through the four dimensions we perceive, so it’s only the hyperdimensions that are left to them.’

  ‘If we could do the same—’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But there’s no hope of that, not for many centuries. The research is far beyond us.’

  ‘Well . . . Thank you for your time, ma’am. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Just a moment. Here.’ Weissmann gestured, and Alisha’s eyes widened. ‘Those are monographs that we’ve written here in the Institute. Feel free to quote from them. With attribution, naturally.’

  ‘Oh, gosh. Ms Weissmann, this is far more than I expected.’

  ‘Well, I like you.’ She stood up behind her desk. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Roger.

  ‘I’ll see you both out.’

  Partway along the corridor, Weissmann paused before a display case.

  ‘Fragments of a mu-space ship. Part of the hull.’

  ‘A Zajinet ship?’ asked Alisha.

  Roger already knew the answer - to him, the material clearly did not come from a Pilots’ vessel.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Weissmann. ‘The poor thing crash-landed in a hypozone, nearly twenty years ago, just after it departed from the Zajinet embassy.’

  ‘Of course. Was that when they withdrew their delegation?’

  ‘Embarrassing, but yes. They thought we could not guarantee their safety, which perhaps the accident demonstrated, but it was their ship that malfunctioned. It’s also why our little institute is such a quiet backwater. Since their species stopped visiting Fulgor, people’s interest has waned.’

  Roger pointed to the next display case.

  ‘Is that from the same ship? It looks different.’

  ‘Ah, you have sharp eyes.’ Weissmann smiled at him for a little too long. ‘This is a much older sample, from Earth.’

  ‘How old?’ asked Alisha.

  ‘Let me just say . . . Rather older than you might think. But we’re still working on that.’

  Alisha touched Weissmann’s fist, all very formal.

  ‘That’s our cue to leave. Thank you so much again.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Weissmann looked at Roger. ‘Do come back, whenever you like.’

  Roger followed Alisha out of the building.

  I need to talk to Dad.

  Then he half-tripped, managing to right himself.

  ‘You look exhausted, Roger.’

  ‘Only because I am.’

  ‘So here’s an aircab.’ Alisha pointed at a descending vehicle. ‘Let’s get straight back to the house.’

  Sleep would be good. He could talk to Dad in the morning.

  ‘Let’s do that.’

  They climbed inside, the aircab ascended, and Roger closed his eyes.

  Alisha had to wake him when they reached the student house.

  THIRTY

  FULGOR, 2603 AD

  Stella Weissmann, seated behind her desk, looked at the four holo images surrounding her in Skein. Their communication was realtime, using ordinary speech - enciphered, but able to be replayed to non-Luculenti should the need arise.

  Superintendent Sunadomari said: ‘You agree Roger Blackstone is a Pilot?’

  ‘From his reaction to my words,’ Weissmann replied, ‘I give it a ninety-seven per cent near certainty. He recognized the Siberian fragment was different from the other.’

  The building’s memory contained full recordings. If necessary, anyone with sufficient authority could browse them to check her conclusions.

  Commander Maria Petrova said: ‘I’m checking the father’s activities right now. He’s been in place for such a long time. If he’s a Pilot, he’s no ordinary one.’

  ‘A sleeper agent?’

  ‘No, a fully active agent-in-place, in my opinion.’

  ‘So what we’re conducting is a counterintelligence operation.’ Sunadomari was frowning. ‘How does this fit with the murders?’

  ‘Perhaps they compromised Blackstone’s cover.’

  ‘Unlikely.’ This was Luculentus Harvey Bashir. ‘It’s a rather noticeable way of maintaining a low profile.’

  ‘The deaths are almost unreported in Skein’ - Weissmann nodded towards Sunadomari - ‘thanks to Keinosuke here.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Bashir. ‘But the killers could not have counted on that.’

  ‘You still think it’s a group?’ asked Sunadomari.

  ‘Eight of the victims died at the same instant, pretty much,’ said Colonel Keller. ‘Think how much more capability that implies, taking them down at the same time, compared to eight or more killers working in coordination.’

  ‘The thought of eight people able to strike through Skein is pretty awful.’

  ‘We don’t ignore a scenario just because we don’t like it.’

  ‘True. So what happens next?’

  Bashir’s image turned towards Sunadomari’s.

  ‘You’ve got full surveillance on the boy?’

  ‘SatScan, building systems, and watch teams on the whole family.’

  ‘And this Rafaella Stargonier?’ asked Weissmann.

  Commander Maria Petrova was frowning.

  ‘We don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘She’s dropped out of surveillance entirely.’

  ‘How can she do that?’

  ‘If we knew, maybe we could find her.’

  ‘Damn it. So, everyone, presumably we’re done for now. When do we hook up again?’

  All eyes, real and holo, turned towards Colonel Keller’s image.

 

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