Information Cloud: Science fiction and fantasy series (Tales of Cinnamon City Book 1)

by Peter James West

  'But a token title would better facilitate my discussions with the Guilds. It would lend me credibility and speed the negotiations to a positive and successful outcome. Perhaps I could be the Admiral's Special Trade Envoy?'

  'Very well. Just understand that your meaningless title does not include any additional powers. Don't agree to anything without consulting me first. That prick will ask for anything he can get.'

  Willow frowned at her use of profanity. His delicate features looked wounded and shocked to hear such words, even though Gail had heard him cursing much worse himself when he thought nobody was close enough to hear him.

  His frown quickly dropped away, replaced by his usual inane smile. 'You can rely on me, Admiral.'

  'Okay, deal with it. I'm too tied up right now. I don't have time for the Guilds and their endless complaints.'

  Willow offered a half bow, 'Leave it with me. I assure you that I'll handle this matter with the utmost discretion.'

  Gail watched him turn and walk out of the door. She wondered whether she had just made a very wise decision or a very stupid mistake. Men like Henry Willow were slippery in all respects. She would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn't abusing her trust. She had to admit that the Guilds were the bane of her life. If Willow could take them off her hands it might be worth buttering him up with a few phoney titles. He had aspirations of his own, she was sure about that, but maybe she could use him too. She just hoped that he didn't get too close to the Guilds. She didn't trust a single one of them.

  Guildmaster Gumptor

  Henry had only been able to reserve a small meeting room in Tower Four at short notice. The larger rooms were apparently unavailable. There were no windows, and the small grey table had barely enough room for four people, but he would make the best of the situation until he could negotiate something more appropriate. It wasn't long before the door opened and his guest stepped inside.

  'Guildmaster Gumptor,' Henry said, performing a deep bow that left his gold chain swinging like a pendulum. 'What a pleasure to meet you again.'

  Gumptor was unmoved. He stood with spade-like hands perched on his wide hips. Standing at just over five feet tall, he was a round barrel of a man, not lacking in self-confidence or charisma. His bulging eyes looked perpetually surprised.

  Henry had no intention of underestimating him. He knew that Gumptor was anything but naive. He had worked his way up through the guilds' complex system of hierarchies, developing his role over a number of years. Only a skilled negotiator with a sharp intellect could have reached such a powerful position.

  Henry knew he would have to tread a careful path this time. If he did well today, the Admiral might let him handle more negotiations on her behalf. Opportunities always existed for those who were willing to grasp them with both hands.

  Gumptor wore his usual thick, brown tunic with the badge of the Merchant Guild displayed prominently upon his chest. The balance scale loaded with coins on each side was supposed to represent trade and commerce. His trousers were tailored from a fine grey cloth, no doubt obtained at a heavy discount, and his shoes shone with wide silver buckles.

  'Where is Gail Thompson?' Gumptor said in a rough barking voice, 'I know she's here. Don't tell me that she isn't.'

  Henry straightened his shoulders, raising his head so that their eyes met on the same level. His jowls wobbled as he announced himself in a warm and friendly manner. 'We have met before, of course, but that was in my previous capacity as a diplomat. It will not surprise you to hear that I have been promoted many times since then. The Admiral has often commended me for my fine skills and my continuing dedication to Central Command and the cherished people of Cinnamon City. Allow me to formally introduce myself in my new capacity. I am Admiral Gail Thompson's Special Trade Envoy. I shall be delighted to speak with you on all matters of the Merchant Guild. I am sure we have many matters to discuss.'

  Gumptor scrunched up his short round nose, staring at Henry with open incredulity on his face. 'Why have I never heard of this Envoy of Trade before? Am I not the Guildmaster of the Merchant Guild?'

  Henry nodded and gestured for Gumptor to take a seat at the small round table. 'Yes, of course, Guildmaster, but in truth this is a relatively new promotion. I wanted to inform you first, as is befitting to your rank and status amongst the Guilds.'

  Gumptor opened his mouth to speak but Henry continued without a pause. 'The Admiral recognises that the guildmasters are highly important to Cinnamon City and to the economy of the whole Orange Zone. She has decided that appointing her finest Special Trade Envoy is the only way to give these matters the high priority that they deserve.'

  Gumptor frowned, but he didn't protest about the implied compliment.

  Henry pulled out one of the high-backed chairs from the small table behind him. 'Please, Guildmaster, take a seat. We can discuss any matters that you wish to address at length. Would you like anything to drink? Some wine perhaps?'

  Gumptor slumped down on the chair without ceremony. It creaked in complaint but managed to hold his weight.

  The room was stuffy, smelling of dust and cleaning fluids. Henry pretended not to notice as he pulled out a chair for himself and sat opposite the Guildmaster, adjusting the blue fabric of his robe to straighten out a few stray creases across his legs.

  'I don't want any wine,' Gumptor said. 'I'm here to talk business. What kind of room is this to discuss important guild matters anyway? It is smaller than my kitchen larder at home.'

  Henry suppressed a wince. 'My current office is humble indeed. This is just a temporary meeting room. In a month or so I will be moved up to one of the higher levels. Here at Central Command, space is at a premium as you know.'

  'As it is in Cinnamon City.'

  'Yes, We must all make allowances.'

  'The box cabins down in the Old Quarter are tangled so tightly, the elderly cannot even leave their homes without help.'

  'Has it really become so crowded already?'

  'Indeed it has, but that is not why I am here today.'

  'Please, how can I help?'

  'I am here not just on behalf of the Merchant Guild. I represent all Guilds in this matter.'

  Henry raised an eyebrow, 'Are you in that capacity as a permanent position, Guildmaster?'

  'No, no. Of course not. The other Guilds have their own business. I am here to represent them on this matter only.'

  'I see. What is this matter?' Henry knew it was foolish to ask such a direct question, but he had to admit that his curiosity had got the better of him.

  'Elections.'

  Henry kept his face perfectly still. Not one jot of indignation, despair, anger or irritation crossed his face. 'Oh, I see,' he said in an even voice.

  'When are we to have free elections? This is not the first time that this has been raised. We were promised many times that the policy would be reviewed. Clearly that hasn't happened.'

  Henry took a slow, deep breath, making sure to breathe deep into his stomach rather than into his chest, so the Guildmaster wouldn't notice the tensions and emotion that churned inside him.

  'As you know, Guildmaster, Central Command does not govern the Orange Zone. Perhaps we are not the best people to address with this matter.'

  'Central Command governs the streets,' Gumptor said. 'They fend off our enemies, but who voted them into power? That's what I say. Nobody. That is the answer. That has always been the answer.'

  'Guildmaster, please understand that Central Command are only here to serve the people.'

  'And the Council Of Lords.'

  'Yes, and of course to serve the Council Of Lords, who wisely appointed Central Command to attend to such important matters as security and law and order. Without these services, where would Cinnamon City be? Chaos and crime would sweep across the Orange Zone. The guilds would suffer under such conditions more than most.'

  'Henry Willow, the guilds know all this. I was not born under an orange tree last week.'

  Henry cringed. He h
ad been a little too blunt, something that he never normally suffered from, but the subject of elections was a sore one that had been debated and dodged for decades, with neither side changing their position.

  The Council Of Lords had been governing the Orange Zone since the end of the Iridium Wars. It had been vital for someone to take control of the chaos left behind by the Emperor's death, but that had been over seven hundred years ago, and the popularity of the Council Of Lords had waned heavily since then.

  At first the Lords had been seen as heroes, saving the people from the terrible destruction outside the Dome Shield and protecting them from what had been a terrible and lengthy global war. But it wasn't long before the gratitude and appreciation had faded. The legacy of the Iridium Wars had faded into ancient history.

  Every year, the Council Of Lords had become less distinct. Those who remembered the original lords were long since dead and forgotten, and subsequent generations didn't share the same appreciation as their ancestors. They only wanted to know who these mysterious lords were, and why they had been allowed to rule for so long. The Lords had become more of a mystery than a governing body. They governed from a distance, using Central Command as their only public face.

  Some doubted whether the lords still existed. They accused Central Command of maintaining their memory just to preserve their own grasp on power. Henry knew that wasn't true. He was one of the few men who had seen Lord Colloran Hades, even though it had been from a distance, and only once, a very long time ago.

  He could understand why the citizens of Cinnamon City took out their anger and frustrations on Central Command. There was so little evidence of the existence of the Council Of Lords. It was easy to dismiss such a ruling body as a ploy or a convenient scapegoat for the Security Forces to hide behind whenever anything went wrong. It was a complex subject with a long history. It was not something that Henry wanted to be caught in the middle of during his discussions with the guilds. He had thought that the Guildmaster had come to discuss trade or finance.

  'Guildmaster, you must realise that only the Council Of Lords can discuss the matter of elections. Central Command is only here to serve. We do not make policy in such respects.'

  'The Council Of Lords will not grant us audience. When was the last time that Lord Colloran Hades lowered himself to speak with the guilds? Lord Pietra Goran has never spoken to us at all. Lord Paul Maison last spoke to me eighteen years ago and that was a pointless experience. The others - I don't even recall their names.'

  Henry was surprised by Gumptor's knowledge. He hadn't been aware that the Guildmaster had dealt with the lords before. In some ways it helped his case, but it also exposed his ignorance. 'The Council has many urgent matters to deal with,' Henry said. 'Of that, I'm sure.'

  'If those who govern do not have time to meet the people of Cinnamon City, then what governance is that? They don't serve the people. They only serve themselves.'

  Henry was beginning to wish he had never put himself in such a position. He could see now why Gail Thompson had done her utmost to avoid meeting the guilds.

  Gumptor folded his arms across his barrel chest, staring across the table with his bulging eyes. 'The Council of Lords hold no divine right to rule, Mr Willow. There are no signed treaties. They have no claim to land. We owe them nothing that our great grandfathers didn't already repay tenfold.'

  'Guildmaster, please, be careful what you say. The Council Of Lords saved us from the Iridium Wars. They have earned our respect. They rule with an even hand. Cinnamon City prospers under their governance. Crime is under control and our enemies are suppressed. Each man has food in his mouth and a roof over his head. Please, we should not describe The Council Of Lords as monsters and tyrants, for they are neither, as you must yourself admit.'

  'Fair is one thing, Mr Willow, freedom is another. There are others who could govern Cinnamon City also.'

  Henry leant forwards, unable to hide his frown, 'And who might that be?'

  Gumptor leant back in his chair, shaking his head, 'At this point, I would rather not say.'

  New powers

  Riser scratched his unruly beard. It had only been a few hours, but already something had changed inside him. This was no passing piece of luck. This was meant to happen. It was a turning point for him - the beginning of a bigger and brighter future. And why not? He had worked hard enough for it. He had sat in the shitty basement of the Mekinet News building for sixteen years, answering to Neech and the men in suits upstairs. He had done whatever they had asked of him, putting himself at risk to make them rich. And what did he have to show for it? Not fucking much.

  This time he would make sure it was different. He would keep his cards close to his chest. There would be no more pissing about, trespassing on the systems of rival businesses. No more sifting through thousands of encrypted files looking for adultery and illegal transactions. This was a whole new ball game. This was his ticket out of the Mekinet News basement.

  Riser spun his new executive chair all the way around, slowing its rotation with one hand until it came to rest facing his new hardwood desk. He had only agreed to stay in the basement temporarily until Neech could move him into a bigger office down in S-Wing.

  Maintenance certainly hadn't taken long to install his new desk, not after Neech had put fire under their arses. Twenty minutes after Riser had closed the comms link to Neech, he had heard the first cursing and clattering of the old wankers in boiler suits, dragging his demands down the corridor. They were none too pleased to see Riser's smug expression, but there was nothing they could do about it. If Riser crapped, they'd have to eat it. Simple as that!

  Riser stared at his beautiful desk with his tongue slightly extended between his teeth. It was made of ancient hardwood. Dark sinister patterns swirled across its shiny surface like eddies in a stream. Riser stroked a hand across its surface. It was the smoothest thing he had ever touched. Some bastard on the top level would no doubt arrive tomorrow to find it missing, but that wasn't Riser's problem. It belonged to him now.

  Things had certainly turned around for him in the last twenty-four hours. Neech wasn't annoyed with him anymore. Once Riser had explained just what a damned gold mine he was sitting on, the bastard had practically rolled over and begged to be involved. He had actually asked Riser if there was anything else he needed. Previously Neech had always been an ignorant bastard at best, and often blunt to the point of insulting. It was funny how he had changed his tone so suddenly.

  No doubt he was already counting up the value of what Riser could deliver to his precious news network. News like this would travel far. Other networks would pay for a piece of the action too. There would be a lot of credits in this for Neech. A man like him would certainly work out every angle and make the best of the situation. That was how Neech worked. Some called him the Fox; some called him worse. He was successful for a reason. His footprints covered the backs of all the poor bastards he had trampled on his way to the top.

  Changing his furniture had only been the first part of Riser's demands. He had called Neech twice more since their original conversation. After a little persuasion, Neech had agreed to give Riser control of one of the Mekinet News Droid hangars down in Shinara. It was one of Neech's latest acquisitions, and it represented a serious investment in state-of-the-art news gathering technology. Riser almost shit himself with excitement when he thought about it. He couldn't believe Neech had been stupid enough to agree to his latest demand. He obviously didn't know Riser at all, even after all these years.

  The news droids were far to the South but they were designed to be controlled remotely. The equipment he would need to control them had just been delivered. The basement still stank of the sweat of all the men in boiler suits who had been and gone in the last half hour. They would have a long climb back to the ground level too. Riser didn't have to worry about that.

  He could barely contain himself as he stared down at the piles of shiny boxes all around him. They covered most of the floor, and mo
re were piled high against the wall. Soon he would have direct control of one thousand X16 net-feed droids! The X16 was ex-military. It was a superb piece of equipment with a manual as thick as Riser's arm. It was an autonomous drone but it had more capabilities than many small aircraft. Riser was certainly impressed, but it wasn't what a single drone could do for him that was so fascinating, it was what one thousand could do together. The cloud communications software was extremely advanced. Most of the boxes were full of documentation rather than hardware.

  This kind of power would force everyone to respect him - even those spotty scumbags down at Net1. Riser wasn't just a small-time hacker anymore. He was a man with real power over real events. Soon he would be able to wield a thousand autonomous machines using just the power of his mind, sending them anywhere throughout the Orange Zone, flying like the wind beneath the Dome Shield, scanning everything in their path. It would be like having his own private air force. He hadn't even set it up yet, but already he knew it was going to be a vast improvement to the grey concrete walls around him, and the cold hard mattress on the floor.

  Riser lifted one of the boxes from the floor, and placed it on his lap, tearing open the protective webbing that encased it. He pulled out the manual and held it up in front of the overhead bar lights. It was the first of twenty-three such manuals, each as thick as his fist. While the box had been shiny and padded, the manual was like silk, each page slick beneath his fingers and smelling of polished metal. Riser flipped through the pages ten at a time, taking little notice of the actual content. He was just amazed by the sheer quality of the paper and the intricate diagrams that floated just above the pages as he opened them.

  Each diagram glowed in blue and green, formed by a complicated structure of cold laser light that seemed to twist to accommodate the angle of his eyes. The section about safety and warnings was two hundred and eighty pages long. Riser bypassed that section entirely. There was no time for all that shit. He would follow his own luck and see where it led him. That was what he had always done, for better or worse. A finger in the air and a flash of white teeth. It had done him no harm in the past - most of the time.