Unseen by anyone, a yellow-uniformed attendant had appeared at the desk. Her smile was ferociously unwavering.
‘The ceremonial amphitheatre, the red and gold carpets, the full-height perception screen, the ushers, the glittery lights … I ordered them, so where are they?’
‘As stated in your contract, sir, the Otranto House reserves the right to initialise booked content only in the presence of an actual audience.’
‘That would be me,’ Nicodemus said. ‘And my associates here.’
‘But—’
‘An audience is made up of those who view a show: we three will be using our sense of vision to view the show, ergo we are part of the audience. You may now remodel this interior to the specifications I have ordered and paid for … or must I now contact my lawyers, Fleam, Goad and Gimlet?’
‘That won’t be necessary, sir. Otranto House is now satisfied that the contractual terms have been met.’
Alteration raced across the surfaces of the great hall, a frantic wave of rerendering. The walls turned dark blue, hung with drapes, adorned with light sconces. The carpet became a rich red expanse patterned with elaborate letter Ns. Most of the pillars vanished and banks of plush seating appeared, and a vast opaque panel filled one entire wall. Last, a partition wall descended, creating an arrivals foyer, with a black-velvet-draped entryway.
‘Good,’ Nicodemus murmured, looking over his shoulder. ‘Wondered where he’d got to.’
Julia glanced round and saw a tall, broad-chested bulky man standing where the walkway had dropped him, swaying on the spot and blinking. He wore a formal black suit, which looked thoroughly incongruous for someone of his build. After a moment his gaze settled on the three of them and he approached.
‘Urm, Mr Nic, I followed yore ’structions … ’
‘And here you are, Alfred, well done!’ Nicodemus looked to Harry and Julia. ‘This is Alfred, formerly the Mad Mangler of Moneytown, the contact-sport zone – he used to be the most fearsome thing on two legs … ’
‘Dem days is over now, Mr Nic. I got my pottry biz to run now.’
‘Glad to hear it, Alfred. Now these are my friends, Harry and Julia, and I want you to look after them for me, just as I explained in my note, okay?’
‘I got yore note, Mr Nic.’
Nicodemus regarded Julia and Harry. ‘Because you’re such a distinctive pair – when you consider the contrasting data profiles – I asked Alfred along to foil anyone scanning on that basis. I am going to leave you for a short while – I’ve had minion-messages telling me that two of our VIPs are away from their chief residences and not responding to our exquisitely worded blandishments.’ He snapped his fingers and a datapad appeared in his hand. ‘Here’s the original list you gave, along with up-to-date pix of the exters they’re likely to be wearing, as well as their appointed times.’ He swivelled his gaze round to the yellow-garbed desk clerk. ‘I assume that the eightfold multi-occupancy is now in operation?’
The clerk nodded. ‘Exactly as you requested, sir.’
‘Better be,’ Nicodemus said to Julia, handing her the datapad. ‘So when they arrive, verify what they’re here to see, usher them through and Buttercup here will switch the door onto the next stratum, and so forth.’
Harry laughed suddenly. ‘So all eight of our Sino reps will be present in the auditorium yet unaware of each other.’
‘Give that AI a tune-playing, self-lighting cigar!’ Nicodemus cackled. ‘Right, time I wasn’t here.’ With that he stepped onto the walkway and a moment later was an upright blur zipping up and away. Harry looked at Julia.
‘I think that means that we’re in charge,’ he said.
Julia tapped the datapad. ‘And our first guest is due any moment.’
A little under a minute later a small group arrived in quick succession, three white-robed monks led by a cardinal in black. Julia quickly matched the exters to a name, Jirawat Pamang, over-councillor for the VietLao–ThaiCam co-territory. The cardinal drew near and in a low voice said:
‘I am here for the Amelia Borjan installation.’
She nodded, then gestured them towards the draped entrance.
‘Please proceed.’
He passed through, followed by his monk escort.
The next VIP was due four minutes later but was a no-show. The following three were punctual, arriving exactly five minutes apart. The sixth was a no-show and when the seventh likewise failed to appear Julia began to wish they’d agreed some method of contacting Nicodemus. She was about to ask their muscly companion, Alfred, if he knew of any way when she started to hear laughter and voices from beyond the drapes. Then came a man’s voice, shouting to be let back through. She looked at the yellow-clad clerk.
‘Can you turn this partition wall transparent but only for us?’
A nod, and the wall duly became see-through, like a misty veil. One of the VIPs, a man in the garb of a prosperous Victorian, was rapping the wall with a walking stick while groups of garishly dressed people ran around in the background, between and over the seats, pelting each other with fruit which burst into sprays of tiny flowers on impact.
‘Where did all these people come from?’ she said to the clerk. ‘There’s not supposed to be any other entrances … ’
There were more voices from behind. Turning, she saw more people starting to arrive by the walkway in a continuous stream. In moments there were a dozen, then a score, then more. At her side the imposing Alfred looked on impassively, arms crossed.
‘What are we going to do?’ she asked Harry.
‘Whatever it is, I think we’ll have to let our guests out,’ he said, pointing at the wall where all four of the VIPs were now demanding an exit from the auditorium. Paralysed with indecision, Julia stared at them, gradually coming to the sickening realisation that the entire complicated ruse had failed. But before she could speak to Harry the growing crowd surged towards the draped entrance and several people at the flank pushed her to the side, scarcely even apologising.
‘Julia,’ Harry shouted from the other side of the sudden mob. ‘Wait there – I’ll go around … ’
He broke off as three brightly dressed people in masks rushed at him from the side. He dodged the zazins’ tackles and launched himself up onto the crowd – voices cheered and hands came up to catch him and bear him along. But the zazins leaped into the press, knocking people aside as they chased after Harry. Others pushed back and punches got thrown.
Suddenly there was an insistent, high-pitched whooping from above as quivering holes opened up in the ceiling.
‘Dat’s the netlaw,’ said Alfred. ‘S’gonna be trouble … ’
Without hesitation the big man lunged into the crowd like a tuxedoed battleship. People moved aside like a bow wave as he charged in, grabbed Harry by the collar and dragged him back to where Julia was standing. The next thing she knew, Alfred had grabbed her round the waist while still holding on to Harry.
‘Sorry Miss Julia, Mr Harry, but I got my ’structions … ’
The chaos all around them seemed to merge into a yowling, roaring surf of sound as everything Julia could see turned ash grey and swirled into nothing.
Awareness returned with the suddenness of a thrown switch. She was sitting in a leather armchair in what looked like a lowceilinged, dim-lit study. Then she saw Harry in a similar chair, hands resting in his lap, head lolling forward and still. Like her, he was wearing the old-fashioned trench coat from their first encounter. Julia whispered then spoke to him but he did not stir.
‘I’m afraid he will not wake,’ said a male voice, sounding hoarse, slightly gravelly, an elderly voice. ‘The zazins must have reached him with some kind of short-range attack. Like you he is running on base system, and there is some kind of activity going on, a self-check perhaps, but he won’t respond to stimuli.’
She got to her feet and looked around her at dark shelves crowded with books and files, a couple of cabinets, more boxes with labels arranged neatly under the lowest shelves on e
very wall. There was no door. A solid wooden chair on castors was positioned at a desk lit up by a flexi-necked lamp. Above the desk, sandwiched between large, heavy books, was an archaic CRT-style vee screen, glassy and grey, deactivated.
‘Who are you? Where are you?’
The old screen blinked on and a wrinkle-faced old man with a grey ponytail gazed out at her.
‘We’ve actually already met,’ he said and for a moment the image switched to a manically grinning face adorned with black goggles. Then back to the elderly man.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Nicodemus?’
‘Everything that you see in the Glow is illusory, by its nature. A dance of masks and marionettes in rainbow colours.’ He shrugged. ‘Which includes that whole spectacle that we just put on.’
Pangs of unease passed through her.
‘I think I’m due an explanation,’ she said. ‘I explained to you what was at stake – are you saying that was all for nothing?’
‘Far from it, young lady sentience,’ said Nicodemus. ‘As you’ll see very shortly. In the meantime try to relax.’
She looked around her. ‘But where am I?’
The face on the screen chuckled and a skinny finger tapped a silver-grey temple. ‘In here, as am I, strictly speaking. Although my I is as much a visitor to the base-system sim I’ve got you running in … ’
‘Sorry, I don’t follow … ’
‘Look, I’m 109 years old so I’ve had a few modifications done to the old brainbox, enough capacity to run two or three fractalised sentiences like you if I wanted. Anyway, the main event is about to begin – oh, I took a copy of the Farag report, by the way, while we were in transit, so to speak. Okay, he’s almost here so keep watching.’
The image of the old man dissolved into a view over rocky slopes and sheer mountainsides sheathed in icy white while wind-driven snow whirled and streamed past outside. There was a glass surface, Julia realised, between the observer and the raw elements and she speculated that this was some kind of research station, high in some range of mountains.
The observer (who Julia took to be the elderly Nicodemus) looked to the right, revealing that he stood in a glass-covered walkway which curved out of sight around a strange, brick-built edifice. There was the sound of a mechanical door opening and closing and Nicodemus turned the other way to see a diminutive figure in a dark coat approaching. As he drew near Julia realised that he was familiar, a Chinese man with grey hair and glasses – a name came to her, Tsu Chung Ho, Earthsphere overcouncillor of Shandong–Jiangsu co-territory, a senior representative of long standing.
Tsu Chung’s deliberate pace did not vary until he halted before Nicodemus. Smiling, he wagged a finger.
‘Thirty years go by and you wait till I am on holiday before coming to see me. Shocking behaviour, Nicholas, especially since my travel plans were supposed to be secret!’
Laughing, the two men shook hands.
‘Shameful, yes,’ said Nicodemus/Nicholas. ‘But to such a data-nibbler as myself there can be no secrets. I heard about the legs.’
Tsu Chung made a dismissive gesture. ‘Undetected preaneurysmic condition, minor stroke, and my legs … well, brain surgery has been recommended, but there are risks, you know? I do not feel I can take small chances at the moment.’ He shrugged then gave Nicodemus an amused, considering look. ‘You’re looking very well, Nicholas, ageing gracefully, one might say. But why would my old teacher leave his electric citadel to hunt me down? Did I forget to hand in an assignment?’
Nicodemus shook his head. ‘No, Tsu Chung, quite the reverse, to be frank. I assume that you know about the Earthsphere ships currently heading to join the Hegemony armada.’
The overcouncillor gave a sad nod. ‘Indeed I do, old friend, my grandson is serving aboard one of them. There is deep disquiet about this, even more than there was over continuing the Yamanon deployment. But the coalition is still holding, still backing the president.’
‘Darien is going to be punished, Tsu Chung,’ Nicodemus said. ‘That is what the Hegemony does.’
‘I know.’
‘What if I could – no, what if you could offer up proof that the potential tragedy is far, far greater than anyone thinks? That the survivors of a lost Sino colony have reached Darien to fight alongside the planet’s defenders?’
‘Wait … you’re talking about that joke clip that went around earlier today. Is that why … ’
‘No, Tsu Chung, what you saw was a grey intel hatchet job. The original is very different.’ He took a small silvery card from an inside pocket. ‘Can I show you?’
Tsu Chung Ho smiled and gestured for him to proceed.
Nicodemus stuck the card to the inside of the glass enclosure, unfolded it to a hair-thin screen about a foot square, then thumbed a symbol on its lower-right corner. At once, Kaphiri Farag’s report began to play. The overcouncillor remained outwardly impassive all the way through. When it was over he took off his glasses and cleaned them with a piece of fine tissue which he then used to dab lightly at the corners of his eyes.
‘It appears authentic,’ he said.
‘Tsu Chung, I assure you … ’
The overcouncillor stopped him with an upraised hand.
‘I don’t doubt it for a second.’
‘Your trust is not misplaced. The question is this – will this be enough to persuade your regional colleagues to back a call for the Earthsphere contingent to either withdraw or stand down?’
Tsu Chung spread his hands. ‘I would have to be able to prove that this report is genuine. Can this be done?’
Julia nodded – this was the sticking point.
‘Well,’ said Nicodemus. ‘This much I do know – the Security Director’s own netlaw division believes it was genuine. They deployed a fully remoted cohort of agents into the Glow a couple of hours ago, instituted a full lockdown on the Electric Theatre City and detain-tagged 104,761 citizens, including four of your own Sino colleagues from the Overcouncil. Now it’s true that I lured them there with the intention of springing the Farag report on them, and it’s also true that a certain amount of second-order circumstantial evidence was leaked to netlaw contacts. But this is incidental next to the ripple effects – go online and you will see the outrage that’s gripping the Glow right now, the endless analysis cycles and the voxpop aggregates saying that Glow freedoms were savagely crushed. When you call a press conference and reveal the Farag report, the surge of popular support should be … considerable.’
The overcouncillor looked thoughtful. ‘One moment, Nicholas,’ he said, his eyes glazing over as he accessed some kind of Glow-linked implant. A moment or two later he blinked, gave Nicholas a wide-eyed look and began to laugh. Nicholas joined in.
‘It’s … better than you say,’ he said eventually. ‘One of the netlaw subministers has already resigned! But I shall have to move with this immediately … ’ He glanced around and beckoned to one of his bodyguards. ‘I will see if the management of the Jungfraujoch can extend the use of a private room where I can conduct some Glow politics … ’
‘Interviews?’ Nicodemus said as he took down the little screen and refolded it.
‘Spot commentaries, group declarations, and all the other features of my rebellious campaign. You know, the way things are I may be able to get the president to have our fleet take control of Darien, under some kind of diplomatic legacy. That should help safeguard the colony, and the new arrivals.’
‘Thank you, Tsu Chung. Some people I know will be heartened at this news.’ He handed over the folded screen. ‘So … now it’s time I made myself scarce and let you work.’
The two men shook hands.
‘And Nicholas,’ Tsu Chung said. ‘Please don’t wait another thirty years until next time, hmm?’
‘I guarantee it!’
As Nicodemus turned and walked away from the overcouncillor, the screen picture faded away to grey.
‘My apologies for deceiving you about the Electric Theatre City. It was a necess
ary part of the ploy.’
Back in the cramped little study, the older ponytailed Nicodemus was now sitting in the armchair Julia had occupied.
‘You used us as bait,’ she said.
‘And we succeeded.’
Frowning, she glanced at the unresponsive Harry. ‘How can we be sure? How soon before we find out if your Sino friend has got the president to rescind her orders?’
Nicodemus chuckled. ‘The Glow is all afroth with anger at the moment – I’ve never seen it so volatile! If President Castiglione attempts to defy Tsu Chung’s demands, she could well find herself swept away … we’ll know in about an hour.’
‘What about Harry?’
‘His internal activity continues, but there are indications that the self-check may have hit a cyclic block.’ Nicodemus shrugged. ‘I made contact with your sponsor, this Emantes, and he says to just erase it since he has a copy.’
Startled, she stared at him, a suspicion forming in her thoughts.
‘Is that what you’ll do?’
‘Hmm, not sure. Perhaps I’ll tinker with his code, see what turns up.’
‘I understand. Well, since our business here is concluded, I am keen to return to my sponsor. Are you able to translocate me?’
The elderly Nicodemus smiled. ‘You don’t feel like sticking around to watch the political fireworks?’
‘Thanks, but there is somewhere else that I have to be very soon.’
‘Of course – places to go, ungodly villains to smite … ’
Questions to ask, missiles to stop …
‘ … okay, you’ll be going via several net-junctions – are you ready?’
But before she could answer the translocation kicked in and her world folded up into tightly packed darkness.
24
GREG
After a microjump aboard the Starfire and a hasty trip in a shuttle on loan from the Vox Humana, they reached the rebel Tygran ship, Vanquisher. The shuttle docked at one of two underhull recesses and when Greg and Lieutenant Berg emerged from the airlock they were scanned for weapons. They were then escorted up two decks to an empty hold where the meeting with the mutiny leader was to take place.
The Ascendant Stars_Book Three of Humanity's Fire Page 30
