by Jaine Fenn
Finally, their luck was changing. He wondered if the males had bothered to tell Nual. She didn’t answer her com, so he tried Ain.
‘How may this lingua be of help?’
‘Oh hi,’ he said, ‘I expected you to be with Nual.’
‘Clarification: the lingua assigned to the Sidhe is currently resting,’ replied the voice at the other end of the com. ‘This individual has been temporarily allocated to serve you. Query: did you require anything?’
‘Right.’ They really did all sound the same. ‘Food would be good.’
‘Offer: some will be brought to you.’
‘And I don’t suppose you know what caf is?’
‘Negative. This lingua apologises.’
The lingua who brought the meal was distant and efficient, and the food was every bit as tasteless as Ain had warned, but he finished it all.
After he’d eaten, he went up to the door again. This time, it didn’t open. He commed the lingua again. ‘I can’t get out of my room,’ he said, as evenly as he could.
‘Offer: a lingua will bring you anything you require,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you will, but that’s not the point.’
‘Explanation: you were instructed to remain in your assigned quarters.’ The lingua managed to make it sound reasonable, like the males were doing him a favour.
‘Yes, and that’s fine: I’ve no problem with staying here. I’d just rather not be locked in.’ He didn’t add that the door had opened when he’d tried it earlier. The lingua could check that for herself.
‘Conclusion: this lingua conveys your request,’ she said.
He thanked her, and started pacing again. He forced himself to sit down again, but he couldn’t settle. He’d just resumed his pacing when the same lingua – at least, he thought it was the same lingua – commed back to tell him his door was now open; she offered no explanation as to why it had been locked.
More male Sidhe mind-games, Jarek thought as he checked the door really was unlocked. This time when he commed Nual, he got through to the local messaging service. He didn’t leave a message.
All he could do was wait. He wondered what lingua did for entertainment round here. Probably memorised lists of sept alliances.
Checking his com for the umpteenth time he calculated that Nual had been alone with the males for the best part of ten hours now. Sidhe stamina or not, she must be exhausted. He commed again, putting the call through on discreet in case she’d crashed out without telling him. This time when the call failed the display came up Unknown Recipient.
Trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut he commed again, in case he’d done something wrong, or there was some temporary glitch in the Consensus’ com system, but he got the same result: Unknown Recipient.
Jarek swallowed hard, then jumped up and ran over to the door. He half-expected it not to open, but it did, and he ran down the empty corridor to Nual’s room, the eleventh door on the left. None of the lingua’s rooms had call buttons, buzzers or visible locks, and the door wouldn’t open. He knocked, in case the door was jammed or locked from inside, but there was no response. He banged hard and shouted Nual’s name, to no avail.
He commed Ain, and got the replacement lingua. ‘Where’s Nual?’ he asked brusquely.
‘Answer: that query is not valid,’ replied the lingua.
‘What do you mean, “not valid”?’ He could feel himself about to lose his temper and he reined it in. Whatever was going on here, he had to remain calm.
‘Kindly refer to your primary assigned lingua.’
‘Well, yes – that’s who I was trying to call!’
‘Clarification: that individual is currently resting.’
‘Then why did you—? Is there anyone else I can talk to?’
‘Response: a request is being placed.’
‘Yeah. Good.’ Jarek cut the connection rather than swear at the lingua. Still muttering, he carried on up the corridor. Ain’s room was just round the next corner, third door along, he thought.
The third room along was empty; his heart sank, but he tried the next one and felt a wash of relief when he found Ain there, asleep on the bed. When he called her name she opened her eyes and looked at him in bleary surprise.
‘Where is she?’ he said, more harshly than he intended.
‘S— Sorry, wh—’ Ain struggled to sit up, rubbed her eyes, then said more firmly, ‘Who?’
‘Nual, of course!’ he said, and rushed over to her. As Ain cowered away from him, Jarek caught himself up short.
‘I believe she is in her room,’ Ain said quickly.
‘Then why can’t I get in?’
‘I am not sure. Perhaps because she has visitors?’
‘And what’s wrong with her com?’
‘Her com? I have no idea.’
Now he thought about it, there was no reason why she would; she’d obviously been asleep. As he looked at her, Ain’s expression began to change.
‘What is it?’ he hissed. ‘What are they saying to you?’
‘Statement: you should leave now,’ said Ain, her voiced quavering.
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’
‘A— Answer: there is nothing “going on”. All is well.’
‘Then where’s Nual?’
Quietly, but with a certain self-assurance, Ain said, ‘This individual does not know anyone of that name.’
‘Oh, come on!’ Was this really Ain? Yes, he was certain it was: she knew him, and she’d been using the informal speech patterns she’d learned from them, at least until a few seconds ago. ‘Ain, this is me, Jarek. Your friend – or so I thought.’
Ain said nothing. It was hard to tell in the low light, but Jarek thought she was looking at him with pity.
‘Request: kindly do not harass the lingua.’
Jarek turned to see one of the silver avatars standing in the doorway. ‘I wouldn’t have to, if you told me what was going on,’ he snapped. Behind him, he heard Ain moving hurriedly.
‘Leave the lingua to her rest. I will talk to you.’
Trying to ignore the impression that he was being told off, Jarek strode out of Ain’s room. A last glance back showed her standing, respectful and blank-faced, by her bed.
He turned to the avatar, which immediately said, ‘Query: did you not receive the message giving you the good news?’
‘What good news is that?’ Jarek regretted his sharp retort; this was an avatar of the Arbiter, and being sarcastic wasn’t going to help. More equably he said, ‘I did get the message about you granting our requests for the beacon and the return of my missing crew-member.’
‘Observation: this is good.’
‘Yeah, it is. Only thing is, I appear to have lost my other crew-member.’
Neither the avatar’s face nor its voice were particularly expressive, so for a moment Jarek wasn’t sure he’d heard it correctly when it asked, ‘Request for clarification: which other crew-member?’
‘Nual, the Sidhe: remember?’
‘Statement: I have no record of any such individual.’
‘Now, come on.’ Jarek fought to keep his voice even. ‘She arrived with me, she came to the first hearing at the Star Chamber, and then she went back in alone. She’s left two messages on my com since I’ve been here!’
The avatar just stared at him, saying nothing.
Jarek stabbed at his com to call up Nual’s last message, but there was no record of it, or of the one before.
‘Christos!’ he shouted, ‘what the fuck is going on here?’
The avatar said, ‘Statement: we have granted your requests. I would expect you to be grateful to us.’
Jarek wondered if that was a threat. He chose his words carefully. ‘I’m grateful for the beacon, and I’m grateful that Taro’s on his way back. But I have also lost a member of my crew. Please, just tell me what’s happened to her!’
‘Statement: we do not know to whom you refer.’
‘I already told— Th
is isn’t getting us anywhere.’ He had an idea; it might not be a smart move but it beat this absurd, circular conversation. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I check she’s not waiting for me on my ship? That all right with you?’
‘Affirmative: if you wish.’
Jarek had expected argument, possibly even forceful opposition. The avatar’s calm acceptance threw him, but into his moment of confusion another thought arrived. ‘You know I had a Sidhe female with me, because I could never have got here without her! Hell, there’s a good chance I can’t get back without her!’
‘Observation: your problems are not our concern; we are keeping our promises.’
‘So you say. Except now you’re pretending someone who arrived with me doesn’t exist!’
‘Statement:’ said the Arbiter’s avatar firmly, ‘what the Consensus decides is true is true. This is not negotiable.’
‘Fuck that!’ muttered Jarek, no longer caring if he offended the impassive avatar. ‘If you want me I’ll be on my ship.’
The avatar said nothing as he stalked off.
The Heart of Glass was exactly as he’d left it, at least, as far as he could tell. He started waking up the locked-down systems and disconnected his personal com from the Consensus’ system, hesitating for a moment before linking back into the Heart of Glass’s private com. The males must have hacked the inbox he’d been allocated on the Consensus comnet in order to delete Nual’s messages, but the com itself should be safe enough. He used the ship’s com to try and contact Nual again, but she still showed as unavailable, which meant her com was either turned off, out of range or broken – all of which were better than not ever having existed, like the goddamned Consensus comnet claimed, but not much help when it came to finding her.
What the fuck were the males playing at? He began to prep the ship for departure: if they had a problem with that, then they could contact him and ask him nicely what he was up to.
When he’d completed a full systems-check and they still hadn’t called, he sighed and sat back on his couch. He wasn’t going to just leave, not without his crew or the beacon. But he was going to be ready to get the hell out at a moment’s notice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Taro took Zhian at her word, even if only half the doors actually opened for him. The crew members he met were polite and helpful, though not exactly friendly. He couldn’t find anything that looked like the bridge. He did find what was probably a rec-room, with devices that might be for exercise or gaming, but there wasn’t anyone around to show him how any of it worked. He also found a communal washroom, currently empty, and decided to have a shower. He unwrapped the chip he’d taken from Vy and, after a moment’s hesitation, put it in his mouth. He’d promised he’d keep it on him at all times, and he meant to keep that promise. Given where he’d found it, he knew it wouldn’t suffer from a few minutes in his mouth.
Once clean again, he spat the chip onto his hand and examined the fingernail-sized golden square. ‘So that’s you,’ he murmured to himself.
Taro had put Vy’s bizarre request to kill him down to the avatar being fucked up after so long out of contact with the Minister – or rather, with Khesh. But Vy had insisted: ‘I will die soon anyway. If you kill me now, while we’re alone, then my death will have a purpose. My mission could still succeed.’
Taro, cradling the boy’s head in his lap, had asked, ‘So what is this secret mission then?’
‘What do you know about beacons?’
Taro had no idea how that was relevant, but he decided to humour the dying avatar. ‘They transmit beevee, and let ships find their way out of shiftspace.’
He thought he could detect the faintest touch of contempt when Vy commented, ‘Is that all you know?’
‘Well, yeah,’ Taro told him, ‘I spent most of my life under a floating city, didn’t I? You might even remember the place.’ But Jarek had said something else about beacons; what was it? Oh yeah! ‘Do they— Do the beacons contain males, or something? You know, like the transit-kernels in shiftships do . . . are.’
Vy said, ‘In a manner of speaking . . . There is a male component in every beacon – each beacon is tied to a particular male Sidhe mind. Part of that mind is backed up into the beacon.’
Taro had tried to visualise what Vy was saying. ‘Backed up? What, like with a comp?’
‘Rather more than that, Taro. Beacons contain fragments of male Sidhe consciousness. They may remain inert, non-sentient, but they can be awakened and used to host the full, active mind of a male if necessary.’
‘What do you mean, “if necessary”?’ Taro had struggled to understand what Vy was saying. ‘Ain’t you a fragment of male consciousness?’
‘I am. And I carry the ability to pass on a copy of myself—’
‘—to a beacon. Shit, that’s it, ain’t it? You’re part of Khesh, a bit of his mind, and he wants you to put yourself in the beacon, the one we’re here to get. That’s the secret plan, ain’t it?’
‘It is my purpose, Taro, my reason for living. After coming so close to death in the mindbomb incident I – Khesh – re-evaluated my decision to limit myself to the Tri-Confed system. I asked the Aleph males if mine could be the consciousness chosen to imprint on the new beacon, which you would then take to Serenein. Choosing me would save conflict between those septs who might otherwise wish to be linked to the beacon. It was also in keeping with the Alephan policy of non-intervention in human-space. They agreed. I was led to believe that on arrival at Aleph I would be taken directly to the location where the beacon is being constructed. But they broke their promise. The Aleph males – or a dominant faction within them – have decided they want possession of the Serenein beacon after all – no doubt they have already chosen one of their own to imprint on it.’
‘The bastards! So if you die now, here, you can’t get to the beacon. I’m sorry, Vy.’ And he really was – but none of that explained why he wanted Taro to kill him.
The boy had managed a grin. ‘I may yet be able to imprint successfully, even if they have already downloaded their choice of consciousness into the beacon. But I need your help.’
‘You’ve got it. Only . . .’ Taro had looked around the stark cabin of Device’s ship, the white monotony broken only by the body of the Gatekeeper’s avatar. ‘. . . I’m not sure what I can do for you just now.’
‘I have already said: you have to kill me.’ Taro had picked up some of the old impatience in Vy’s voice; then, more evenly, the avatar had explained, ‘We avatars are flesh-machine hybrids – mainly flesh, in my case – but the seat of my consciousness is technology, specifically, a small chip buried deep in my brainstem. I need you to remove that chip.’
And that meant removing the avatar’s head, Taro had guessed, which would leave Vy as he knew him well and truly dead.
And that, Taro suddenly realised as he recalled the conversation, was what Zhian had been pleased about – that was what’d been nagging him! When she’d first turned up, she’d asked if there were any other survivors, and when he’d said there weren’t, she’d been relieved. He’d be willing to bet she’d known Vy was with him; she was glad to find the alien avatar was dead – so did that mean she knew about Vy’s real mission? But she hadn’t searched him for the chip . . . Now he thought about it, she probably didn’t know shit about beacons and downloaded consciousnesses – why should she, unless her patron thought she needed to know? He’d probably just told her to make sure Khesh’s avatar didn’t get off CN-Dingy Shithole alive.
He had another worrying thought: why had Zhian only told him he was going to be reunited with Nual and Jarek after he’d been on board her ship for the best part of a day?
There was all sorts of smoky shit going on behind the scenes here, and all he could do was keep his eyes and ears open and act like he trusted his rescuers . . . until and unless it looked like they were about to fuck him over.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of someone coming into the bathing area. ‘Nearly done!’
he called, palming the chip again. The man and woman who came into the steamy room didn’t act the least bit embarrassed, and they were as polite as everyone else around here.
After he’d dried and dressed, he returned the chip to its hiding place, then made his way back to the canteen. The food dispensers didn’t appear to need any sort of cred or ID; the only problem was there wasn’t an obvious way to select what you wanted to eat.
Behind him a voice said, ‘Greetings, Taro.’
When he turned, he recognised the pilot from the shuttle. ‘Oh, hi, Trin,’ he said. ‘Any chance you could sort me a drink and maybe some food?’
‘Okay-aye.’
Trin was happy to help – and to chat. Taro suspected there weren’t many people of their age on the ship. But he was still wary, and if Taro strayed into difficult territory – questions about their sept, their tech, or their relationships with patrons – he smiled fixedly and said Taro would have to ask Zhian. And there were deeper differences: when Taro commented on the way patrons could order their ‘populace’ to do anything, up to and including topping themselves, Trin looked taken aback and said, ‘Statement: most never would practise such cruelty.’
Taro knew he should let it drop, but he hated the idea of being owned and controlled like that, even if your particular owner happened to be one of the reasonable ones. ‘Yeah, I’m sure your patron – whoever he is – is nice enough. You still have to do what he tells you, though!’
‘Okay-aye. Assertion: this is how our lives are, we would not want it any other way.’ Trin paused, then asked, ‘Query: how is it you manage to live without such certainty?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Clarification: we know where we stand. We know that in return for our loyalty, our patron will protect and defend us. Supposition: to be without that, without someone greater than you to look up to, must surely make you feel a bit . . . lost.’
Before Taro could work out what to say to that, Trin’s face took on an odd, vacant expression. Then his gaze focused and he said, ‘Interrupt, high priority: Zhian wishes to speak to you.’
