Metal Sky

by Jay Caselberg

  For Jennifer

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to express my gratitude to my editor Jennifer Heddle and particularly to fellow writers Laura Anne Gilman and Liz Williams. Always, of course, to the Clan, without whom none of this would be possible.

  One

  Jack Stein swung his feet off the desk and leaned forward to run his hands over the flat surface. It was a good height, a good build. It had taken a full night to remove the old desk and grow the new one in its place, but he was happy with the results. The Yorkstone programs weren’t quite as sophisticated as those he’d known back in the Locality, but then Yorkstone wasn’t as big a residence.

  He sighed and turned his chair to look out the window. Windows were good. That was one thing he didn’t miss about the Locality—blank featureless walls. Of course, back in the Locality, Scenics made up for the lack of windows, but they didn’t have Scenics in Yorkstone. Semiclear ceiling panels looked out onto sky, real sky, instead of some designer simulation meant to distract the populace from what was going on inside and help them pretend that they lived in a real environment. Yorkstone took a far more subtle approach to things. He could almost believe they lived in a normal, old-style city. It had been almost two years since he and Billie had left the Locality, but there were still things about the place that he missed, despite the many shortcomings. There was just something about daily normality that didn’t sit well with Jack.

  One of the traps of the programmable residences like the Locality, like Yorkstone, was that you could get caught up for hours growing furniture in new positions, changing the layout of a room. It was just another time sink helping him to avoid facing what was really going on here with his and Billie’s existence.

  “Diary,” he said, and the opposite wall’s surface bled lines and shapes until a simulacrum of his handipad’s date page sharpened in front of him. He had it set to WEEK, and as he turned to face it, the blank empty page stared back at him accusingly. “Month,” he said. A couple of pissant jobs in the last few weeks and that’s all he had to show. He stood and crossed back to the window, looking down across a city that at least functioned, and maybe that was the problem. Things worked in Yorkstone. It was a clean city. Clean and ordered. People had less need of the services of the likes of Jack Stein, psychic investigator. Well, he needed to do something about it soon, or he and Billie would be forced into the sort of place that Jack could have put up with if he was on his own, but with her around . . .

  He shook his head and made a low sound of displeasure in his throat. It was about time fate started throwing something his way. It had been too long since his inner senses had prodded him into anything that really meant something. His dreams were still full, but the problem was, they were full of crap. The missing relative. The lost object. He’d even had one or two pets crop up in his inner landscape. In the past, even if his dreams had been barren, he’d been able to rely in part upon his other senses, his innate sense of knowing. He didn’t even feel anything in his gut, or he hadn’t for some time now, and that was unusual. Jack had spent most of his life teetering on the edge of an inner chasm—or at least that’s what it felt like—but even that reassuring discomfort was nowhere to be felt. If something didn’t happen soon, he’d have to start thinking about a “proper” job. He had a quick thought.

  “Change the window display. Read JACK STEIN, INVESTIGATOR.”

  The word PSYCHIC bled away and INVESTIGATOR slipped into position beneath the curved arch of his name. Not that people could really see it from the street, but it was something. The letters cast lengthening shadows in reverse across the new, pale desk. Anybody coming into the office would get the right feeling. It was important to convey the proper image, after all.

  “Jack, what are you doing? Are you rearranging the office again?” There was a sound of exasperation in Billie’s voice, but then that wasn’t unusual.

  He turned to look at her. Billie had shot up since they’d arrived in Yorkstone. She’d also let her hair grow out, but tended to wear it in a tangle of unkempt waves. She stood leaning in the doorway looking at him disapprovingly, her smooth, pale features marked with a frown. She was still slim, almost too slim, but her face had started to gain marks of maturity—slightly longer, less rounded at the cheeks—that sat more comfortably with her attitude. It was almost as if she had started to grow into the sense of age that she already possessed. Damn her. Sometimes, there was no doubt who she believed was the real child in their relationship. The kid was trying to run him again.

  “Well, it gives me something to do, doesn’t it?” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, nodding slowly, sternly unimpressed. “And what else are you going to do, Jack?”

  He sighed. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. You can sit here playing with your furniture or flipping through your diary, but that isn’t going to get us anything to eat, is it?” She crossed her arms.

  He turned away from her and looked out the window. “All right, you suggest something.”

  “Nuh-uh,” she said. “Not me. It’s your turn. You just want to sit here waiting for stuff to happen. I always end up making the suggestions. Why don’t you try doing something? Really doing something. How did you get work before? You know, back there.”

  He spun the chair back and forth with one hand. She was referring to the Locality. She still didn’t like talking about the place. “I dunno. Talking to people. Bars. Stuff like that. I knew some old contacts back there. Referrals. The Locality was different, Billie. This place, well, it’s just too clean. You know that. You’ve seen what I’m talking about. We’ve been here long enough to know what it’s like. Things just don’t work the same way here. Everything’s too normal. Back in the Locality you knew stuff was going to happen. Here, even looking for it doesn’t seem to do any good.”

  “Yeah, right.” She shook her head, her mouth set into a thin line, then disappeared into the other room to continue whatever she was doing. No doubt she was immersed in one of her numerous learning programs. Her capacity to absorb knowledge was just unbelievable sometimes. She liked challenges too. Not that he’d had anything to give her in that regard for a while. She’d be asking—no, demanding—to go out and get something to eat soon. The inevitable accusatory prompt. They were the two things that seemed to drive her: information and food. Ultimately, he guessed that there was more than one sort of hunger.

  She was right though; he was just avoiding things. Okay, they’d picked Yorkstone pretty much at random when they’d left the Locality, and normally Jack would have trusted his gut to lead him somewhere that made sense. The right place at the right time. It had always worked that way in the past. Maybe it had been right, as far as Billie was concerned, for what she needed. It had given her a chance to escape the memories of her life back in Old, the tainted existence she’d been forced to lead among the sleaze and the lowlifes who made that part of the city their own. Now and again they talked about it, but her answers were always clipped and reserved. She carried the marks of that life around with her still. For the most part, the subject was strictly out of bounds. Jack had learned that, to both their displeasure, more than once. Two years, and the details were as sketchy as they’d ever been. And as for her family . . . well, there was a limit to the amount of Billie’s wrath he wanted to face. He frowned at that thought. Jesus. Who exactly was the kid here? He gave a quick snort to himself.

  And they were stuck with Yorkstone too. It had gotten to the point now where they couldn’t afford to move anywhere else even if Jack had wanted to. He needed a job. One big job and they’d have some choices again. With a sigh, he ran his fingers back through his hair and wandered out into the living room. It was times like these that he missed having a separate office
away from the place he lived, but with Billie and the extra expense, that was yet another dream, and not a particularly useful one at that. Dreams. Well, it had been a while since his dreams had given him anything particularly useful anyway.

  “Hey, Billie.”

  She looked away from the wallscreen and gave him a blank look, waiting for him to say something.

  “Okay. All right. I get the message.” He shrugged. “Do something for me, will you?”

  It was Billie’s turn to sigh. “What is it?”

  He looked at her for a couple of moments before answering. It was hard enough to get her engaged in things at the best of times these days, and if he could get her to feel like she was involved . . .

  “Well, you’re so eager for me to pick up some work, why don’t you get me a list of bars in the area. Maybe I can do what you suggested and find some work. After I’ve checked some of them out, I might be able to get them to put some discreet notices up or something. What do you think?”

  She shrugged. “Uh-huh. I can do that. You’ll have to wait. I’m in the middle of something.”

  He glanced at the screen. It looked like some sort of electrical diagram with a screed of incomprehensible notes. He was glad he’d insisted she enroll in the city’s educational program, but some of the things she chose to focus on continued to amaze him. How a fourteen-year-old—well almost fourteen—kid could get buried in that sort of stuff, or even want to get buried in it, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe he should encourage her to go out and find some friends. The problem was, with what she’d seen and done, any kids her age were a problem for her and anyone older was going to look at her askance. She seemed happier on her own anyway.

  “Okay, well, I’m going to make some coffee. I’ll wait. When you’re ready, Billie.”

  She nodded absentmindedly, clearly not catching his sarcasm. “I won’t be long. I just want to get through this module.”

  Jack headed into the kitchen area and brewed himself a cup. It was about his fourth for the day, or maybe fifth. He’d lost count. He’d given up asking Billie if she wanted any long ago.

  While he waited for the coffee unit to finish its cycle, he drummed on the counter with his fingers, thinking. Despite all the good intentions when they’d come here, Jack’s life hadn’t really moved on that much. Sure, he had Billie now, and she did a lot to keep him in line—he hadn’t touched a stim patch for months—but that wasn’t the point. There had to be more than this. In some ways, he even felt guilty for the life he was offering her, or not offering her. It was better than living on the urges of predators like Pinpin Dan, but how much of a life was it? He needed to do something right for her, or at least make the attempt, though he was damned if he knew what that was.

  The coffee finished brewing and he leaned back against the counter, sipping slowly and staring into nothing, waiting for Billie to decide she was ready to help him out.

  It hadn’t taken long for Billie to compile the list and upload it to his handipad. Out on the street, Jack pulled out the device and flipped it open. What she’d come up with looked comprehensive, but then he wouldn’t have expected anything else from her. The local neighborhood boasted a few bars, but Jack doubted that any of them would prove that useful. Standing on the street corner, staring down at the list on his handipad, trying to make a decision, he scratched the back of his head and glanced up and down the street. The nearest was a place called I.D. It didn’t sound too promising, not with a name like that.

  A shuttle whirred quietly past and headed uptown. Jack watched it disappear into the distance. Maybe he needed to head for somewhere less ordered. There was a seamier side to Yorkstone, up near the port. Most cities had that kind of place—stations, ports, docks—but the Yorkstone facility was a good half an hour away by shuttle. Smaller than the Locality, Yorkstone was still large enough to require decent shuttle transport. Better to start somewhere easy. He might just get lucky. He looked down at the list again, his lips pressed tightly together. So, scratch I.D. It was bound to be full of designer labels and the trendy set. There was another place called the Keg. Okay, a couple of blocks farther away, but it sounded a bit more promising. Sometimes you could get a feel for a place just from the name.

  Jack watched the surrounding streets as he walked, more out of instinct than anything else. An old lady strolled up the other side in the opposite direction, leading a dog, tugging at the leash, but her pet had decided to make a stop at one of the trees lining the sidewalk. That was another difference between Yorkstone and the Locality. The local governance had taken the trouble to have real trees, gardens, spread throughout the city rather than confined to central gathering areas like the Locality’s Central Park. All very pleasant. All very civilized. There was nothing wrong with it at all.

  The dog finished what it was doing and the woman walked on, not bothering to do anything about what her pet had left behind. The city’s programming would see to that. The inbuilt biomemory could tell what it could use and what was supposed to be on the streets. And as he watched, a piece of the pavement bulged, hollowed, swallowed the small pile, leaving things as if nothing had ever been there to taint the pristine surrounds. And pristine it was. All around, neat ordered buildings echoed the suburban ideal. Jack shook his head. He really was going to have to do something about this. He and Billie just didn’t fit in comfortably here.

  They’d ended up in this particular suburb by default rather than by any conscious plan. This area, Grandleigh, was a mixture of small business and residential. The bar he was heading for now was on the border of a warehousing area of the city, but Grandleigh sat in that transitional area between, warehouses on one side and plush apartment blocks on the other. Cheap enough to be affordable, but still pleasant in its layout. Whoever had designed and programmed this city in the first place had been careful about the zoning, making sure that no one area had the potential to upset the careful civic order. Civic order—what sort of background was that for someone like Jack Stein?

  It took him about twenty minutes to find his destination. The Keg sat in a narrow side street about halfway along, stuck between two warehouses. A large blank building stood on the other side, probably a local authority parking area by the looks of it. Most of the residents relied on the shuttle, not owning vehicles of their own, but there was always a need for transport for those who kept the place running. The street itself was empty. A small sign, glowing red in the wall above a low doorway, discreetly announced the establishment. The letters weren’t even moving. Another quick shake of his head and a sigh, and Jack headed toward the entrance. It didn’t look at all like the sort of place where he’d find what he needed. There was something too clean about it. Going in was better than having to face Billie’s stern disapproval right now though, and he could do with a drink. Drinking was another thing he didn’t do very much of anymore.

  Steps led down behind the door. It looked like the owners had taken advantage of unused space beneath an old office building to set up the bar. As he opened the door, the smell of beer and the noise of voices and music greeted him. A long, low bar, simulated wood. Lines of bottles along a series of mirrored shelves. A cluster of men at one end of the bar. Even the floor looked as if it was made of dark wooden boards. Jack stood at the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. Round tables dotted the open space in front of the bar, with low seats around them. This looked like a traditional drinking hole. Whoever ran the place had taken trouble to make the place have the look and feel of something old and comfortable. It took real effort to have actual barstools in a place. You had to have them shipped in. They weren’t the sort of thing built into the city’s programming.

  He headed toward the bar. One of the men at the other end gestured with his chin in Jack’s direction, drawing the barman’s attention. The barman, who had been leaning at the end of the bar in conversation, gave Jack a speculative look, pushed himself upright after shoving a cloth into his belt, and wandered slowly down the length of the bar in Jack’s
direction. Yeah, traditional all right. Right down to the barman.

  “What can I get you?”

  Jack glanced at the bottles arrayed behind the barman’s head. “Yeah, scotch, thanks. Better make it a double.”

  He flipped out his handipad, placing it carefully on the bar beside him. The barman was back in a couple of moments. No casual conversation. He placed the glass down and pulled a reader from his pocket, pointed it at Jack’s handipad, then slipped it away again before wandering back up to the other end of the bar to rejoin his group. That was it.

  Jack lifted his glass and swirled the contents before taking a sip, looking through the golden liquid. Friendly place. He slipped his handipad away and glanced up at the group at the other end of the bar. They were obviously regulars. One of them was watching him, not too surreptitiously either, his eyes slightly narrowed. There were other glances too. The place clearly wasn’t used to casual customers. There was something slightly familiar about the man’s face as well. Jack’s own eyes narrowed as he sipped, carefully looking away, trying to work out what it was. He tried to get a better look in the mirror behind the bar, but the barman blocked his view. He glanced over at a group of three sitting at one of the tables in the corner. A man and two women. Something about them too.

  Jack spotted another table in the other corner and headed that way, carrying his glass dangling between two fingers and a thumb, glancing at them as he passed. There was a sort of sameness about them, about the group at the end of the bar. He shook his head as he sat. They didn’t look like the sort of people he was here to find, but then why should they be? Another aspect of Yorkstone’s clean and proper population. He pulled out one of the low chairs and sat, leaning back, giving himself a good view of the bar’s other occupants. No, he’d finish his drink and move on. The port would probably offer more than Billie’s list after all.