This is over for her. It’s so over. All she can do now is hole up here and wait for the inevitable. She closes her eyes and lets herself drift, content at least that on this occasion she is aware of where she is lying down to sleep.
COMMAND PROMPT
From the background hum and the shape of the windows behind her, Alice can tell Ochoba is speaking to her from on-board the private jet the FNG places at her disposal. The Chair is transformed since their last conversation interrupted her sleep, resplendent in a crisp purple suit: full battledress for whatever business she is on her way to conduct. Alice doesn’t know who she is meeting with, but is pretty sure the agenda got radically updated last night.
“Is this a secure situation?” Alice enquires, not knowing who else might be out of shot inside the cabin.
“It will be in ten seconds,” she replies, signalling to someone to make themselves scarce.
“From your discretion, I am assuming the news is unlikely to have me order everyone a round of breakfast mimosas,” Ochoba continues, by way of letting her know she is clear to proceed.
“More like a black coffee, Madam Chair.”
Alice delivers a full report, complete with grabs from the Habitek security cameras.
When she stops speaking, Ochoba simply nods.
The Chair is legendarily phlegmatic in public, and not given to fits of anger in dealing with her staff, but she has subtle ways of expressing her emotions if you know what to look for. Alice would have expected her to register a certain degree of dismay at this bloody escalation. From its absence she deduces that this is because nothing she said is going to change what Ochoba already decided twelve hours ago.
“Sounds like you caught a break with the locus. A multiple homicide anywhere less enclosed and I doubt you would have been the first person I’m hearing this from.”
“It will get out soon enough, Madam Chair. The dam has broken with regards to confidentiality among Seguridad officers. You can get them to stay quiet about one killing, for a while at least, but there is a law of diminishing returns as the bodies pile up. People need to talk.”
“Oh, don’t I know it. The media has gone nuts down here over the Selby killing. It’s not as though they are short of Earthbound murders to report, but you know what it’s like: anything that happens on CdC has this elevated news value. Add to that the prurience factor of Selby being a hooker, and you can imagine the effect. They’re ‘lifting the lid’ on the hidden culture of prostitution on CdC, and everyone is getting themselves into an almighty froth. I’m on my way to New York right now for a summit to discuss how we should formulate an emergency response.”
“And am I right in assuming you wouldn’t set off to such a summit without having already formulated an emergency response?”
Ochoba allows her the tiniest of nods by way of acknowledgement.
“Very much thanks to your work, yes. Your reports contained eye-opening and alarming information. We now have reliable confirmation of things that were merely rumoured before. The FNG debate chamber has long been awash with allegations, but given the delicacy of our relationship with the Quadriga, the first rule when it comes to CdC is ‘Don’t make it an issue until it is an issue.’ As of last night, the conduct of the Seguridad is very much an issue.”
Ochoba takes a moment, straightening in her chair. Alice senses an announcement.
“The FNG is declaring a temporary Condition of Crisis and taking direct control of the Seguridad. I am assembling a task force of experienced law enforcement officers who have been on permanent standby for this kind of eventuality. These new captains will be put in charge of all Seguridad divisions, and will be directly answerable to you as our senior law enforcement liaison on-site. They will lead a crackdown, closing all illegal or semi-legal operations as described in your account: bootlegging, prostitution, fight clubs, the lot. I expect this to be rubber-stamped at today’s summit, and the personnel ready to proceed to Ocean Terminal within the next twelve hours.”
Ochoba fixes her with a stare, scrutinising her reaction. Even allowing for the delay, there is a glimmer of disapproval in her eyes at what she sees.
“Is there a problem with the transmission?” Ochoba asks, which is as good as putting Alice on notice that she’d better change her attitude tout de suite.
“Madam Chair, as the person on-site I feel obliged to sound a minor note of caution. I believe a response that is locally perceived as heavy-handed may have the potential to incite unrest. People up here don’t like being pushed around, especially by the FNG.”
Alice can hardly believe she’s saying this; it sounds like Nikki talking, but it’s true.
“There would be little resistance to action against the more extreme sub-level activities I described beneath Mullane, but if we are shutting down bars and restaurants and the like, the danger is that we might become regarded as an occupying force.”
Ochoba’s stare remains laser-like. She issues a sigh like a safety vent that prevents an explosion.
“Dr. Blake, I appreciate your candour and I do not doubt the veracity of your impression. But equally I believe you underestimate the wider impact of what you just told me about Habitek. There is a deranged killer on the loose, guilty of multiple homicides stemming directly from police corruption, prostitution and gang warfare. This will be headline news on every feed within hours, generating sufficient concern among the citizenry that they will understand things need to be a little quieter up there, at least until the situation is brought safely under control.
“It is a matter for the Quadriga and the politicians to discuss what brought this licentious culture about, and what they want to do to address it, but in the short term we have an opportunity to cut a cancer out of CdC. So, are you ready to take command of this operation?”
HAIL MARY CALL
A response from Slovitz isn’t likely to make any difference, so Nikki is surprised but hardly elated to be woken by the sound of an incoming audio request. However, when she opens her eyes, her lens informs her that the contact is not from the elusive scientist: far more surprisingly, it’s from Candace.
“Hey,” she responds quietly, mindful of Amber’s fitfully sleeping form alongside.
“Nikki. It’s so good to hear your voice. I didn’t really expect you’d answer.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky I did. Got so many well-wishers to respond to, gonna take a while to get through them all.”
There is a pause, long enough for Nikki to worry that Candace has disconnected. Then she speaks again, and her words are a balm.
“You okay? I mean, you know. Are you …?”
“I know.”
It’s not the Song of Solomon, but it’s not Yoram’s “where are you?” and that means something.
“This thing at Habitek …” Candace says, like she doesn’t know what to ask but she’s dreading the answer anyway.
Nikki glances at the scrolling feeds. The story is out: six dead. They haven’t named the victims or a suspect, but she knows it’s only a matter of time.
“Yeah, they’re gonna pin that shit on me too.”
“You need to get off this wheel, Nikki.”
It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it. Unfortunately, the reason it would help is also the reason it’s not an option: nobody would be looking for her on W2 because she has no way of getting there.
“That would mean going up a spoke and along the Axle, which I can’t possibly do without being seen. I’d have to pass through like six access checkpoints, and they’ll all be guarded.”
“I was talking about a shuttle.”
“Nah, that door’s closed too. Yoram’s thrown me to the wolves. His entire smuggling network is burned to me now. If I were to arrange a rendezvous with one of his pilots, I’d expect the Seguridad to be waiting for me at the dock.”
“I know a guy,” Candace says, though she sounds tentative, conflicted. “A pilot. Bjorn. Been seeing him for a couple months.”
“You kept t
hat quiet.”
“Well, that’s the whole thing: he’s pretty straight. He doesn’t know what I do on the side. Doesn’t know anything about our world. Bjorn’s a very Wheel Two kind of guy.”
“So you don’t think he’d go for it? Why are you telling me? You think we could fool him somehow?”
“I could get him to do anything. I’m a great lay, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“The fact he’s so straight should work in your favour. Any pilot bent enough to smuggle you is also gonna be bent enough to sell you out. Whereas a guy like Bjorn, once he realises what he’s caught up in, he isn’t going to tell anybody in case he loses his contract.”
And now Nikki sees the true catch.
“At which point he’s never going to trust you again, and your relationship is over.”
“Maybe not over—I’m pretty good at smoothing things out—but never the same again, for sure.”
“You don’t owe me something like this, Candace. In fact, you don’t owe me anything. So I can’t ask you.”
“You’re not asking, Nikki. I’m offering. Because not everybody hates you as much as you do.”
STRINGS
With the transmission ended, Alice is left staring at the blank wall, seized simultaneously by a surge of pride and a sense of trepidation. The difference between the two is that she knows where the trepidation is coming from. The pride feels like a glimpse into someone else’s perspective, how she imagines it must feel to access an imported memory when you’ve got a mesh. She is the one who has just been given this massive endorsement by the Chair of the FNG Oversight Committee, but it’s as almost though she’s pleased on behalf of someone else.
The problem is that it doesn’t seem real, that it feels like it came too easy. Maybe that’s because it is unreal. The new captains will ostensibly be answerable to Alice, but she knows that in reality they will be answerable to Ochoba. While not quite imposing martial law, the FNG would still be taking control, much as the more paranoid CdC citizens have always predicted. The Chair is invoking Condition of Crisis provisions, but temporary measures have a tendency to become permanent once governments get a taste of the powers they confer.
Alice has a strong sense that events are overtaking her, even though on the surface she is at the heart of those events. She is being handed the reins, but is she really the one driving the horses? She has this insecure feeling of being over-promoted, given a responsibility she isn’t ready for. It is a more intense version of how she’s felt at certain junctures, certain appointments throughout her career.
As an academic prodigy, she has learned to shrug off jibes about being too young, or even merely looking too young. Given who her parents are, she has also had to repel accusations of nepotism regarding how connected she is. But she would have to admit there were times it seemed things slotted into place a little too smoothly. Alice knew what hard work was, what it felt like to face intimidating obstacles and the endeavour, sacrifice and self-belief required to get past them. She knew when she had worked for something. She knew when she deserved it. But the corollary was that, deep down, she also knew when she didn’t.
There were times when she suspected strings had been pulled by her parents, or by people they were connected to. Leading her to wonder who is pulling strings now. And is she the puppet?
An alert appears in the corner of her lens, signalling the arrival of classified documentation pertaining to Ochoba’s plans. She has a cursory look through the materials, triaging what will need to be read first. Among them is the list of personnel who will imminently be headed to CdC to form the new task force. Alice casts a quick eye over it to see if there’s anybody she’s had dealings with, and more pertinently anybody likely to give her a problem. She sees nobody she knows, but nonetheless a single name stands out: Dominic Petitjean.
A quick search establishes that Helen Petitjean is his older sister. They hail from a wealthy Louisiana bloodline with political connections going back generations. Suddenly Alice finds herself wondering how coincidental it was that Helen just happened to be on hand during the all-stop. She came to Alice’s rescue and was able to get the uninterrupted, unchaperoned access she wanted, providing the opportunity to identify Nikki Freeman as indicative of the corruption Alice ought to be rooting out. Fast forward barely a couple of days and suddenly the likes of Nikki is going to be replaced and overseen by Ochoba’s own picks, one of whom is Petitjean’s kid brother.
This train of thought is derailed by an incoming request from the same FNG tech who tried to get in touch earlier. She sees his profile headshot pulse in her lens, a nagging line of text informing her how long it’s been since his first unanswered attempt. The Accept and Decline options present themselves. Her natural inclination would be to go for the latter, but having spent so long without a functioning lens yesterday, she can’t afford to be negligent.
“I just wanted to make sure everything is operating as it should be,” he states.
“Yes, absolutely. Thank you. It was back to normal when I woke up and there have been no problems since.”
“I wouldn’t ordinarily trouble you with follow-up, but it’s just that somebody really did a number on your system and I wanted to verify no new problems have emerged. I’ve got you going to Habitek on Hadfield and then back to the Armstrong Hotel where you are now. Is that right?”
“Yes. It’s all good so far, though I believe there may have been some grabs deleted by the guy who hacked me. I don’t suppose there’s any way of restoring the data?”
“No, ma’am. The reason it took so long to get your system back up was that I had to let it recompile absolutely everything in your data cache, and when it did, all grabs from the previous twenty-four hours proved irretrievable. The whole console architecture seems to have been radically replumbed, including the addition of some non-native functionality, which is again why I’m curious as to how it’s holding up.”
“I thought it might still have been ticking over in the background even though I couldn’t get the console to respond; you know, location logs, basic monitoring functions. I would be interested in any data from the period I was out of contact.”
“That’s what I mean by doing a number. There’s nothing. Your lens was completely dead from the moment he did whatever he did until I recompiled it for you.”
“Good job nothing interesting happened to me then,” she remarks wryly, before politely ending the conversation.
Now that she has had this discussion, Alice can’t help worrying that some recurring glitch might be about to take down her lens again. She runs a systems diagnostic, to make absolutely sure everything is working as smoothly as she just told the tech.
Nothing seems to be amiss, though she has her suspicions regarding that “non-native functionality” the tech remarked upon: the hacked upgrade allowing her to access multiple identities. She can’t help worrying that Trick may have slipped some kind of time-bomb into the works.
She looks again at the list of fake personae she can adopt, the name Wendy Goodfellow sitting at the top. And that is when something seismic pulses through her.
Trick said his identity spoofing “fools the receiver into thinking it has got its information from the CDB, when actually it’s coming straight from your local device.”
All that time she was identifying as Wendy Goodfellow, her local unit was stone dead. Trick lied. Like magicians down the centuries, he had misdirected his audience by telling them how it couldn’t be done.
What do you think I am, some kind of a god? Nobody can hack the central database.
He had. And Alice isn’t the first person to have worked this out. The people who abducted him knew it too.
DEBTS
Sleep won’t come now. Nikki lies on the floor next to Amber, watching her chest gently rise and fall, listening to her occasional moans of unconscious distress. She feels heavy-limbed, sluggishly aware of her exhaustion, but while she drifted off before, that was becaus
e she was in a state of resignation. Like the guilty man in the cell, her mind had allowed itself to shut down, knowing there were no immediate decisions to be made.
Candace’s call changed all that. Nikki has spied a glimmer of hope, albeit only for delaying her capture, but it is enough to give her an edge again. She lies there and waits, her mind a storm of questions and replayed incidents, none of it cohering into anything useful. All that matters is that she is still free, concealed down here in the realm of the invisible.
She watches the clock slowly tick its way towards when she will have to leave, increasingly concerned that Zola has still not returned. Why is she taking so long? she wonders, worrying that when she does come back, it will be with a posse of Seguridad.
No, she assures herself. Zola herself has too much to lose from that. Except that giving up Nikki could be a valuable bargaining chip if Zola was seeking to negotiate the restoration of her status.
Then she hears Zola’s voice approaching the nook. She’s talking to someone, an older voice, male. Nikki sticks her head out cautiously to check. Sees she’s talking to this bearded guy. She can’t get a clear look at his face and she sure doesn’t want him getting a clear look at hers.
Zola is bringing Jabra back here to talk to Nikki about Amber and Slovitz.
Not good.
But then they part ways at the corner, Zola coming this way, the bearded guy heading off towards another row of pods.
“She’s sleeping,” Zola observes with some relief.
“I need to get moving now,” Nikki says quietly, standing up. “I got a call. Did I hear you talking to somebody? Was it Jabra?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. That was Otto. He was supposed to be doing a cleaning shift in the Axle but they’re running ID checks, so he’s had to duck out. Some big security alert. Is that why you’re here?”
“It’s related, yes.”
“I hope I haven’t kept you.”
Places in the Darkness Page 27
