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

by Peter James West

  Annie entered the room with an apologetic look on her face. She had been Lisa's nanny for the last three years. She stepped over to join them as she tried to straighten her tangled, shoulder length, mousy brown hair.

  'Sorry, Mr Neech,' she said. 'I told Lisa that you would be busy working but she doesn't listen to me at all. She said she had to see you right away.'

  Ario shrugged, 'It's okay, Annie. I'm never too busy to meet a Lady.'

  Lisa giggled.

  Annie smiled and stroked a hand through Lisa's sandy blonde hair.

  Annie was well into her middle years, and carrying a little extra weight around her hips, but she had a friendly face and Lisa liked her a lot.

  Mrs Rimmer was still standing in the doorway, smiling and watching. When she caught Ario looking at her, she jumped and turned to face the door. 'I can't stand here all day,' she said over her shoulder. 'Some of us have work to do.' She left the office and closed the door behind her.

  Ario turned back to Lisa. Her shoulder length hair seemed to get curlier every day. He had no idea how Annie had been able to comb it.

  'One of my reporters told me there is soon to be a very special birthday in Cinnamon City,' Ario said with his best serious expression.

  'Yes!' Lisa said.

  'I have no idea whose birthday it is though. It can't be anyone I know.'

  'It's my birthday!'

  Ario shook his head, 'No, I think it must be someone else.'

  'My birthday, grandpa!'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, I'm ten.'

  'Six,' Annie said.

  'It's a bit too soon to be ten,' Ario said. 'You really should experience six first. I hear its the best age to be.'

  Lisa stared back with wonder in her eyes.

  Ario lowered Lisa back onto her feet and turned to face Annie. 'I have a meeting now, but if you check with Mrs Rimmer, there might be a present in her drawer.'

  'A present?' Lisa said. 'What is it?' Her smile filled her whole face.

  Ario winked at her, 'You'll have to wait and see.'

  'I want to know now.'

  Annie took Lisa's hand and led her towards the door, 'Come on, Lisa. Let's go get your present. Say goodbye to grandpa.'

  Lisa waved her free hand over her shoulder, walking forwards with her head facing behind her. It wasn't long before she tripped over her own feet. Annie kept her upright by tugging on her hand.

  'Mind which foot you put down first,' Ario said. 'If you put the same foot down twice in a row, something has probably gone wrong.'

  Lisa scrunched up her face, contemplating his wise words.

  Annie opened the office door, guiding Lisa in front of her. Lisa waved once more, and this time she watched her red shoes carefully as though she expected them to run in opposite directions without her.

  'Bye,' Annie said.

  Ario nodded with a smile.

  Information Cloud

  The Drop Ranger flew low across Walstone Forest, a silent black cylinder surfing the upper branches of the trees. It remained below scanning altitude, hugging the forest like a spring breeze. When it reached Riser's designated coordinates, it plunged down, snapping branches and ripping through foliage on a carefully planned descent. As it fell, a narrow slit opened up on its undercarriage. The slit widened, releasing dozens of polished silver spheres that fell as perfect raindrops towards the forest floor. The spheres wriggled like sacks of fluid as they fell, giving birth to gruesome, unnatural offspring.

  The limbs that shot out through the protective membrane were not organic. They were the limbs of net-feed droids - simple autonomous agents that swarmed like angry wasps.

  The Drop Ranger slammed into the forest floor, becoming an instant relay station, managing communications between the net-feed droids and the humming black box on Riser Trent's desk back in Cinnamon City.

  Riser sat in the stuffy grey basement, staring at the impressive equipment laid out on the desk in front of him. The Sphynx-II controller rack was the most understated piece of hardware that any organisation could hope to possess. The cost was well beyond the means of any private individual. A small green light flickered innocently on the front panel as it gathered, filtered, error-corrected, and continuously processed immense quantities of data, combining it into a single coherent model of the outside world. The manufacturers referred to this world model as 'Cloud Awareness', though they stopped short of calling it consciousness.

  Two hundred and fifty net-feed droids raped the land before them, leaching every drop of information from their surroundings. Each droid could sense sound, smell and visible light as well infrared and ultraviolet radiation. They also had echolocation abilities - the ability to perceive distance, not only to the objects in front of them, but also to the objects behind them, including any hidden structures inside them. A net-feed droid could determine a building's location, temperature, structure, strength, and the thickness of its walls. Every piece of information was compressed, encrypted, pumped back to the nearest Drop Ranger, and then relayed to one or more Sphynx-II controller racks.

  Riser had been flipping through some of the manuals for some time. Apparently the X16 net-feed droid was the result of many years of extensive research by the Mekinet News Corporation. Its initial design was based upon a modified military drone that Mekinet News had licensed from the budget-strapped Security Forces. There had been many rumours about how exactly such a licensing deal had been struck between two such unlikely partners, and how it was that a news organisation had made better progress with the technology than the Security Forces themselves. Many questions had remained unanswered, but integrating thousands of net-feed droids into the Sphynx-II controller rack had made Mekinet News rich beyond its dreams. The extensive work that they had put into the project had taken a many years but it had all been more than worthwhile.

  Riser hadn't been allowed anywhere near the project, though he had been aware of it's existence for some time. He was way too far down the social scale to be let near anything so important. Now that he had control of net-feed droids his heart raced.

  Short Trip

  Henry Willow returned to his quarters alone. He closed the door behind him and pressed his back against it while he recovered his laboured breath.

  It was a small room, comprising of a bunk, a table and a wardrobe, all within a few paces of each other. A door at the opposite end of the room led into a tiny bathroom that Henry had complained about on many occasions. It was built for a small, thin person, and Henry was the first to admit that he was neither.

  Stepping across to the bunk, he perched on the edge and rubbed his aching legs through his thin blue robe. He kicked off his buckled shoes, reached under the bunk, and pulled out a pair of soft, synthetic wool slippers. They had padded soles and a thick warm lining that he couldn't quite get enough of. His circulation wasn't as good as it used to be and his feet were forever feeling cold. Pulling the slippers on, he sat back and thought about the day's events.

  Henry had only been the Special Trade Envoy to Admiral Gail Thompson for two hours and he was already wishing that he could roll back time and reverse his decision. He'd been planning this for weeks, trying to put himself in the right place at the right time so he could take advantage of Gail's avoidance of the Guilds. The plan had worked brilliantly. Henry had managed to create a new position and award it to himself without arousing too much suspicion. Obviously Thompson had had some reservations about it, but that was always going to be the case. Making it look so natural and spontaneous had taken a great deal of work.

  Henry rubbed his plump chin with one hand. Perhaps in time, he would be able to fill the role and make it his own. He hoped to use it to obtain better salary and quarters, but the first meeting with Guildmaster Gumptor had been a diplomatic disaster.

  The Guildmaster had left the meeting more aggrieved than when he had arrived. Nothing had been resolved between them. Henry was struggling to find any positive spin on the result. Diplomacy was Henry's speciality a
nd diplomacy was where he had failed. He could charm the birds from the trees and persuade deadly enemies to shake hands within an hour. It was what he had always been able to do. He had a way with people. He could always turn a situation to his liking, but Guildmaster Gumptor had been something else. He carried the troubles of many people. Henry didn't just have to persuade Gumptor to change his mind, he had to persuade everybody that Gumptor represented as well, and right now, that seemed like a whole lot of people - the whole of Cinnamon City perhaps. The discussions about elections had turned into a real mess. Henry's attempts to assuage the Guildmaster's concerns had failed utterly. The subject had been too loaded with history and malcontent to be easily pushed aside.

  Had Thompson known this was going to happen? Did she know this was what the Guildmasters wanted to talk about all along? Perhaps. Henry would have to look at her in a whole different light if it turned out that she had tricked him into this.

  He rubbed his aching legs as he worried about how the meeting had ended. Gumptor had shown just enough of his true self to make Henry truly concerned. He had dared to mention that other organisations might challenge the Council of Lords for power. It was a bold remark at best. No doubt he would deny having made any such statements if questioned later. Gumptor had also claimed to speak for all of the Guilds. Were they all going to stand openly in favour of treason against the Council Of Lords? Henry had no doubt that the organisation Gumptor was talking about was the Kamari. There were other organisations in Cinnamon City, some more opaque than others, but the Kamari were the only ones who had the numbers and the strength to make a bid for such power. They could only succeed if they had enough backing from the people.

  The Kamari had been talking to key figures in the city, trying to drum up support, but they were still predominantly seen as a terrorist organisation. They had been in open conflict with the Security Forces on several occasions. Surely they couldn't gain large-scale public support? Stranger things had happened. History was littered with terrible leaders who had built up huge public followings. Henry couldn't let common sense blind him to the absurd reality.

  Guildmaster Gumptor had also promised to take action to force the Council Of Lords into granting him an audience. That was at least a diplomatic solution, if not a very subtle one. Henry wished he could distance himself from the whole situation. Whatever Gumptor did next would reflect badly on Henry, one way or another. Now that he had held the meeting personally, he was at the centre of something that he wanted no part of.

  Henry rubbed his lower back while he considered his options. It felt a little sore today. Now that he had appointed himself to be Gail Thompson's Special Trade Envoy, he would have to report the outcome of his first meeting in that capacity. Thompson was going to be furious. It was the worst possible outcome.

  Henry rubbed his aching knees. Everything seemed to hurt in one way or another. He wondered whether his mental anguish was exhibiting itself in physical form. It was true that he had put on a few pounds this year. A man of his position had to eat well. There was nothing worse than a skinny diplomat with a gaunt face.

  Gazing up at the shelf above his bunk, he sought answers to questions that filled his head. Over one hundred digital volumes occupied the shelf, arranged into a neat row, each one little more than a few millimetres thick. Henry's collection included many works on politics, public relations, and philosophy, as well as some of the more common reference volumes on history, economics and the qualities of leadership. He had always read far and wide. The more influences that guided a man's thoughts, the better would be his solutions. There had to be a way out of his current situation. He just had to apply himself and find it.

  Thompson was always busy. She didn't like to be disturbed. It would be inconsiderate of him to bring her such bad news while her hands were full of other important matters. Perhaps it would be better if he didn't report to her at all right now?

  Henry rubbed his thick fingers against his knee, his hands moving as though he was kneading thick dough. His fingers put pressure on the ligaments around the joint, leaving a warm fuzzy feeling where nothing but aches had once been. Keeping his hands busy sometimes helped him to think.

  His father had taught him baking when he was a young boy. He hadn't developed much skill with dough but he had mastered the basics and enjoyed the experience more than he had expected. It had taught him many things about himself, and helped him form his own goals.

  Henry often visualised his problems as tricky recipes that he would soon be able to master with just a little more practice. He imagined his problems to be nothing more than dough that could be easily reshaped with a little more flour and water. No problem was too great to manage. He just had to work steadily with determination until the situation began to turn in his favour. It required patience too, of course. The best solutions always required careful planning.

  Henry's fine blue robe clung to his back with sweat. He tugged at it, shaking it loose. Perhaps he should take a short trip, just for a couple of days. It would give him time to consider his options. It wouldn't be a trip as such, more of a reconnaissance mission to find out what the public thought and felt about the Council Of Lords. Henry smiled. Yes, he liked the sound of that. It was the perfect reason to get out of the towers for a day or two. It would keep him out of harms way until he could think of his next steps. Henry pulled out a small sack from under his bunk and began stuffing it with extra clothes and supplies. Yes, a short trip was exactly what he needed.

  Crab Scanners

  Nick sat in his hard bucket seat inside K1's cockpit, listening to the whirring fans above his head as he watched silver globes pour out of the Croc's front pods onto the wet mud of the riverbank below. To an outside observer, it might have looked as though the Crocs were laying eggs along the riverbank.

  The globes rolled down the steep bank, tumbling towards the water until thin stabilisers shot out, digging into the mud and securing them in place. Seconds later, the globes burst open, releasing a single wriggling mass that fell apart almost immediately as hundreds of crab scanners tumbled over each other, gradually spreading out along the water's edge.

  After they had dispersed themselves, the scanners slid down into the water, their short legs pumping away to combat the currents as they swam across its surface. Several were washed down stream, spinning in circles until they were out of sight. Those that managed to navigate the currents scurried up the bank on the other side of the river, dripping with water. They fanned out, spreading far and wide until they almost spanned the width of the field, and their frenzied legs grappled for purchase in the slippery wet mud.

  Nick breathed slowly, watching their slow progress on his console. Despite their best attempts at haste, the scanners' short legs, and the uneven terrain, meant that their progress was a slow tide at best. Nick sighed. The combined scans did at least provide him with a comprehensive, all-round view of the area ahead. His console now displayed a range of images, some showing infrared views, highlighting any heat sources. It was just taking a hell of a long time.

  The crab scanners' orders led them gradually towards Havers Compound, a wide white stone building that stood out against the ploughed fields, a couple of kilometres ahead. Nick wondered just how long the scanners were going to take to get there. He noted that already a third of them had failed, either washed down the river, or stuck somewhere with their legs sunk deep into the mud. Several had toppled helplessly onto their backs with their legs kicking in the air. Crab scanners were old technology. Nick had complained about them to Admiral Gail Thompson several times. When they would be upgraded, nobody could say.

  Studying his console, he tried to push aside his frustration. Small green text flowed across the console's flat display in waves, offering selected summaries of what the scanners had ascertained so far. There were no signs of any mines. That was good news. They hadn't detected any energy fields either. All was quiet at Havers Compound - a little too quiet perhaps.

  'Sit still,' Nic
k said, expecting Edwards to start complaining about something. Edwards had no patience at all.

  The seconds ticked by in silence as the crab scanners rolled onwards in their own sweet time. Nick listened to the sound of his own breathing fed back through the overhead comms unit. Resting one hand on the dashboard, he leant forwards, trying to see what was happening below. He could see a lot of odd shaped footprints in the mud where the scanners had long since passed by. The river's surface undulated in a gentle breeze, offering a peaceful backdrop to an otherwise busy day.

  A pink haze crept over the landscape as morning encroached, but the moon was still visible between the heavy clouds above. Hazy lines played across the moon's surface, an optical illusion caused by the intense power of the Dome Shield. The scene was almost too idyllic for Nick's liking. Peace and beauty were not part of his everyday life. Tapping his fingers against the dashboard, he chewed his tasteless gum, and listened to the sounds of the forest creaking through the comms unit as the trees swayed in the breeze outside.

  'Commander, I'm picking up movement to the West,' Rachel said.

  'Where?' Nick said, flicking through the Croc's external visual logs.

  'Shit. What is that?' Edwards said.

  Nick finally found what they were all looking at. 'Oh fuck!'

  Havers Compound

  The swarm of net-feed droids acted in perfect concert, providing Riser with a constantly rolling stream of incredibly detailed, real-time data. The three consoles on his desk showed a perfect omnipresent view of miles and miles of open forest. The swarm moved with incredible speed, and Riser felt as though he was flying with them. He could almost feel the breeze flowing through his thinning hair. Clenching his fists in front of him, he let out a great belly laugh that descended into a fit of chuckles while he held onto his considerable belly in front of him.