Wyrmhole: Jack Stein #1 New Edition

by Jay Caselberg

  The hum was louder here and there was the smell of…he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was sort of like machinery, but different, with a sharp tang about it. Jack stood just inside, his mouth open. Ranks and ranks of colored walls disappeared into the background, but they weren’t just colors; they were iridescent. Bright glowing blues, reds, oranges, all colors imaginable were stacked in tiny cubes, one on top of the other. The filled the vast room from floor to ceiling. Jack let his gaze rove, tracking the lines, seeking some pattern in the ranks of softly glowing color.

  “Can I help you? Hello?”

  The voice came from over to the right, and he narrowed his eyes, seeking its source.

  “Um, yeah. Hello?” he said.

  A woman stepped from behind some sort of pedestal over to the side. He hadn’t noticed it before in the rainbow confusion.

  “Can I help you?”

  She was short, slim, her mid-length dark hair tied back behind her head. She wore a plain white coat. Dark eyes, pale skin. But most people had pale skin in the Locality. She was quite good looking in a formal, proper way. Jack cleared his throat.

  “Um, yeah. Is this the Library?”

  She crossed the intervening space and stood just in front of him. “Yes, this is the place. What can I do for you?”

  “I guess I expected something else,” he said, scanning the stacks of cubes.

  She gave a little smile. “It’s quite a sight. Takes a bit of getting used to, Mister…”

  “Stein. Jack Stein.”

  He felt himself warming to her straight away.

  “Well, I’m Alice,” she said. “I’m the librarian, whatever that means in this place. What is it I can do for you? We don’t get many visitors.”

  He glanced around again then back at her face, looking at him expectantly, a strange little wry smile on her face now.

  “Well, I thought maybe you could help me. I’m doing some research, or trying to and I keep getting lost. There’s just too much stuff and I can’t find the links I need.”

  Her expression suddenly became interested. She studied his face for a moment. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the slight bruising still evident around one eye, but she moved on.

  “And what are you doing this research for, Mister Stein.”

  “Alice, is it?” She nodded. “Well, you can call me Jack, Alice. I’m an Investigator.” Could he trust this woman? “It has to do with a case I’m working on at the moment.”

  She turned away and crossed back to the podium, beckoning for him to follow. “Interesting. So where do you need help?”

  Behind the podium sat a comfortable swivel chair and a series of flat screens set above a rounded, kidney-shaped desk. She took the seat and gestured that he should stand beside her. She reached forward and touched one of the screens with her index finger.

  He pulled out his handipad and opened it to his notes. “Well, it’s a combination of things,” he said. “There’s a list of alchemical stuff, some other things to do with the kabala and…well, physics and other things.”

  She turned to look at him with a curious expression, her finger still poised near the screen. Slowly she withdrew it. “Interesting. There’s not much call for that sort of thing.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “What sort of investigator are you, Jack?”

  Ah, here it comes, he thought. “Well, funny you should ask. I’m a P.I., Psychic Investigator, if that means anything to you.”

  She nodded slowly, resting her hand on the desk in front of her. “So, what do alchemy and kabalistic theory have to do with your case?”

  He rubbed his hand over the bottom half of his face and grimaced. “Quite a bit actually, but I can’t work out how. I keep on getting these pointers to this stuff, but I can’t make sense of it all.”

  Alice folded her hands in her laps. “Perhaps I can help you make some sense of it,” she said. “That’s why they employ an actual librarian in this place. They started out with an AI construct, but human beings can do things that AI’s still can’t. We can tie tangents together, make illogical links. Not that there’s much call for it, as I say. Everything’s there for people to get themselves.” She shrugged.

  “Maybe if I gave you some of my notes…” he said.

  “Sure. Look, I’d love to do it. That stuff fascinates me and god knows, it would give me something to do.”

  “But I’m not quite sure…”

  Alice stood. “Look, what I can do for you is compile the references you already have, strip out some of the dross, try and identify some sort of pattern in the information. I can also see what sorts of access we’ve been having in similar areas. Perhaps that might help, perhaps it won’t, but it will give you some sort of coherence. I don’t mind. Really I don’t. It might just ease the tedium of my little wonderland here.”

  Jack smiled.

  It couldn’t hurt. He scanned his notes, looking to see if there was anything overly incriminating. He nodded then, looking back up at her eager expression.

  “Yeah, okay. Is this set up for…?”

  She nodded and tapped the screen. “Go ahead.”

  He thumbed the handipad to send, then shut it down and slipped it away.

  “Thanks, Alice. Look, I have to go and see someone now. Can I leave this stuff with you?”

  She nodded. He reached into his pocket and fished out a card. “Call me if you need anything from me.”

  She smiled again. “I will.”

  Jack turned to leave, giving the strange multi-colored walls one more look. He guessed they weren’t really walls, after all. As he slipped out the front door, he felt strangely light, almost happy.

  Alice.

  oOo

  Right. The first stop was back to Gleeson. Gleeson was his primary link in Outreach now. If he followed that path, he'd eventually stumble on something that would lead him to Billie, because somehow she was tied up in this. He had to cut down on the number of paths and focus his concentration. It was like the diagram. There were too many lines. Francis Gleeson seemed like an unlikely source of anything more, but if the little man had managed to find out what Jack had asked him for, then it would be a start.

  He was feeling more than vaguely alive by the time he reached Gleeson's apartment. His ribs still felt sore from the unwelcome exertions of the last couple of days, but he was close to functional. The long hot shower had washed some of the past few days away, and Alice had been lie a breath of fresh air. He smoothed his coat and waited for the apartment's systems to announce him. It didn't take long. A breathless Gleeson opened the door a crack, glanced up and down the corridor, then ushered him inside.

  "Where have you been, Stein? I've been trying to contact you, but I couldn't get through. I thought something had happened."

  "Yeah, well, something did happen, but you don't have to worry about it," Jack said in a clipped tone.

  "Well...?"

  "Well, what, Francis?"

  "I called you several times. It said your system was off."

  Damn. He'd forgotten about the screening that he'd asked Billie to put on his system. And now he had no way of getting rid of it. "I'm sorry about that. Technical problem. You’ve got to understand that, right?"

  Gleeson shepherded him into the living area. "Look," he said. "I don't care about that. I'm paying you to find Gil. So far, you appear to have done nothing. I want to start seeing some results." The tone was distinctly churlish.

  "Had you forgotten, Francis? I was waiting for some information from you."

  "Yes, yes. Why do you think I called you? I don't see how any of this is going to help find Gil."

  "Whatever you can provide, Francis, will get us closer to locating your friend."

  "All right." Gleeson sighed and walked over to a set of shelves molded in one wall. After a moment of shifting things around, he turned, holding out a card. "I took no inconsiderable risk finding this for you. I hope it prompts some tangible results. I'm sick of being h
anded nothing more than shadows."

  "I appreciate it, Francis. Do you know what's there."

  "Of course I know what's on it. Outreach has been pumping a steady stream of funds into a facility based offworld somewhere. There's been significant purchase of equipment and quite a large security allocation with it. I would guess this is what you're looking for."

  Jack took the proffered card. "It might not be exactly what we’re looking form but I think it will help. Is there any indication where this facility is based."

  "No. Security's too tight on this. I couldn't access it. The only thing I know is they call it Project Flatland."

  "Flatland? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

  "That's all I know."

  "That's too bad. But I guess it'll have to do."

  "There is one thing ... " Gleeson paused, seemed to consider, as if the thought had just come to him, then continued. "It doesn't seem as if there are any new transport costs. Wherever they have these facilities, they must be on one of the existing outposts."

  "And how many of those are there?"

  "Oh, only about three, as far as I know."

  "Is it conceivable that they could be on Dairil III."

  "Well, yes. I suppose so."

  "But if that was the case, why would Warburg allow investigations of a site near to something he wanted kept secret?"

  "Unless he thought there was no risk," said Gleeson, looking pointedly at Jack.

  "Hmmm. I see." Jack fingered the card while Gleeson looked at him expectantly. "All the same, I just think it's a bit of a gamble on Warburg's part, don't you?"

  "Perhaps," said Gleeson. "But anything offworld is less of a risk. It's easier to cover your tracks. How many people are actually going to go out there and take a look? The costs. Getting it arranged. The time it takes to get there. It's beyond the means of most people, surely?"

  It was too easy — the connection to the mine, Ronschke's disappearance, but then again, Gleeson could be right. You could get away with anything if it wasn't under direct scrutiny, and who was there to scrutinize? Most of the miners were the sort who didn't leave tracks, or who didn't have anyone waiting for them to question where they were. If the two were connected, it still didn't explain how the miners were involved. What would be the connection between a research facility and a group of miners? Maybe they'd stumbled on to something that they weren't supposed to see.

  "Listen, Francis. I know this is old ground, but was Gil involved with anything beyond his direct line of work? I mean outside of his mining contracts?"

  "Haven't we already been over this, Stein? What about the handipad? I told you that he sometimes got involved in things, stuff that he wouldn't talk about. I must say, you don't seem to be taking this very seriously."

  Jack returned the annoyed look with a flat stare. "I can assure you, I'm taking this extremely seriously. I just want to be sure of things. I need to look over this stuff and then decide where it's going to lead us. I may need some more help from you, Francis. As you say, if someone wanted to get offworld, out to the scene, then it's not that easy right? If I wanted to get out to Dairil III, how would I go about it?"

  Gleeson looked vaguely alarmed. "There's only one way I know. You'd have to go on a company ship, and that would take forever."

  "And could you arrange that?"

  "I — I — suppose I could. But it's too risky. There's no justification."

  "There's every justification, Francis. You forget, I'm working for Warburg. I'm on contract to Outreach investigating the very same thing — the disappearance of the mining crew. Warburg's paying me to find out what happened to the miners on Dairil III. Warburg himself told me that if I needed anything, I was just to ask. Well, now I'm asking. We don't have to advertise the fact, do we? Get me the schedule. Get me some sort of authority. I don't know. Official investigator, working for Outreach. Permission to travel and have access to the site. Can you do that?"

  "You don't know what you're asking. You don’t know what you’re doing."

  "Do you want me to find Ronschke for you?"

  Gleeson chewed at his bottom lip. Finally, reluctantly, he nodded.

  "How long will it take?"

  "Not that long, but I'll have to be extremely careful."

  "You be as careful as you need to, Francis. I'll need some time to make a few inquiries based on what you've given me here, but how long?"

  "It will depend on the transport schedules and I have no idea what they're like. It will take a few months to get out there. The link to the station, then there's the shuttle down to the surface. Then there’s the expense. I suppose we can find a way to hide the costs."

  "Yes, of course." Jack was clear now. There was no question that he needed to get to Dairil III somehow, but that amount of time just didn’t seem to make sense. How could it be worth it? He still didn't understand how the miners were involved, but everything else made sense. Where better to carry on secret research than out from under the eye of anyone, out on some remote outpost where no one could check up on what was going on. And plainly, Warburg didn't expect him to turn up, didn't expect anyone to turn up there. Sometimes, power made people complacent. If Warburg thought that the entirety of Jack’s job consisted in sitting around and having dreams, then he had a surprise coming. Whatever he thought, it was obvious that he didn’t really take what Jack did seriously.

  "But what if it's not Dairil III?" said Gleeson.

  Jack gave Gleeson a hard look. Of course that was a possibility. "We'll deal with that when and if we come to it."

  Gleeson shook his head. “This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “To spend so much time, to go all the way out there on a mere hunch. I cannot believe that that’s the right decision.”

  “Listen, Francis,” said Jack. “It’s more than a mere hunch, okay? This is what I do. At least part of the answer is out on that mining world, and there’s no other way I can see to getting close to what’s happened to Gil, or anyone else for that matter. Take it or leave it.”

  Gleeson was still looking troubled. “Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m not convinced though.”

  The trouble was, neither was Jack.

  "So how do I contact you?" said Gleeson, finally.

  "Dammit. You don't at the moment. I'll be in touch."

  "I'm not happy about that, Mister Stein."

  "You're not very happy about a lot of things, are you? Take it or leave it, Francis. It's the best you've got. And call me Jack, will you?"

  At the door, he turned. "Listen, Francis, one more thing. Who exactly do you work for?"

  Gleeson blanched slightly, then flushed. "What sort of question is that, Stein? You know who I work for."

  "Right," said Jack.

  As he walked back down toward the elevator, Jack filed the little man's reaction away. He had a couple of days now to pursue his other inquiries and that particular little revelation might just help. Gleeson was trying to play him too. If what he expected was right, then Gleeson was working for some other third party at the same time. There was still a nagging doubt working at the back of his mind that he was jumping to conclusions, but he had to be right. Gleeson’s reaction had been enough to tell him that.

  TWELVE

  Jack made his way back to his own apartment wasting no time. He had thought he was over the worst of it, but he still felt weak, the patches only masking what was really going on with his body. The excursion to the Library and to Gleeson's had taxed his reserves. Every step was becoming an effort. It wouldn't do to overdo it on his first day out. Back on the shuttle, he couldn't even be bothered watching his fellow passengers; he had other things on his mind.

  He'd always been a little suspicious of Gleeson, but now that suspicion had more fodder. Gleeson, an unassuming clerk at Outreach, someone who would fade into the background easily, someone who had easy access to the sort of administrative data that keeps a company running. It was just too easy. He'd been so casually forthcoming about his suspicio
ns during their first meeting, so conveniently there. And then there was the handipad. Gleeson was the only source of that particular key piece in the puzzle. There was nothing to say it had any other origin. Oh sure, Gleeson had some connection to Gilbert Ronschke, but it didn't have anything to do with the handipad, did it? There was nothing to say the handipad had anything to do with Ronschke at all. Van der Stegen had confirmed the timing was wrong. Something was definitely not right with Gleeson and the whole thing and knowing that, Jack'd have to be more careful from now on not to give his suspicions away. Gleeson was useful, no matter where his allegiances lay, and he could exploit that usefulness any number of ways. Besides, he needed Gleeson to arrange his trip to Dairil III, and he was going to Dairil III now. He was pretty sure of that much at least. He couldn't see any other way he could close enough to find out what he needed to.

  Going to Dairil III. The time it would take, the effort, it just didn’t quite add up. The thought left an uneasy feeling in his guts. Maybe it was just a hangover from the dream. Maybe it was something else. Time would tell.

  By the time he reached his own section of Mid, parts of his body were starting to hurt again. He slipped out of the shuttle, trying to ignore the discomfort and keep his thoughts organized. As soon as he got in to his apartment, he'd call up the chart and start shuffling the names again. But first another Rapiheal and some more painkiller. He couldn't think like this, and if he couldn't think, he couldn't work. With his body on low, his perceptions were less accurate.

  "Come on, Stein, pull yourself together. You've had worse than this."

  He was getting soft. Too much of the protected life inside the Locality. Petty jobs. Encapsulated reality. He could barely remember the times before the Locality any more. After his escape from Intelligence, and it was more of an escape than a release, he’d drifted for a while. He had enough savings to last for a while. There wasn’t much to spend the money on when you were living like a spook. Acquisition requires some sort of permanence. He’d drifted into a succession of the smaller fixed towns, never really clicking with anything. There was a string of inevitable sameness, and nothing had really felt right. He worked on a farm for a while, laboring, but physical work, good honest sweat wasn’t really Jack’s thing. After a couple of months, he’d made his apologies and moved on. Finally, he’d happened on the Locality. Something about it, from the first time he’d seen its vast shimmering bulk across the landscape, had fascinated him. He visited a couple of times, enjoying the slick modernity, the facilities the entertainment factor, and there was something about the place that felt right. He’d felt good there. After the third visit, he’d decided to stay, not really sure what he was going to do, but comfortable enough not to have to worry about it.