Suddenly the press opened up and Mace caught himself at the edge of a big empty space, marked only by a gauzy strand of fiberoptic stretched around it. The floor looked no different than the rest of the clutch surface. Overhead, in the shadows above the light tubes, large shapes hovered darkly, waiting. A projector.
“Slumming tonight, Mace, or did you actually get my message?”
Mace turned. Cambel stood beside him.
“Message... ?” he asked.
“I thought not. So this is just coincidence.” She gave Nemily a brief glance. “There’s a problem.”
“Again or still?”
“Either-or. Structural Authority wants to talk to us. Both of us.”
“Officer Stat?”
“No, a real live agent contacted me.”
“Your Mr. Koeln contacted me this evening. I’m supposed to talk to him tomorrow”
“SA might not wait. Who’s your companion, Mace? Are you going to introduce us?”
“Uh... Cambel Guerrera, this is Nemily Dollard.”
“Hello,” Nemily said, holding out a hand.
For a few moments Mace thought Cambel would ignore the gesture. Then she clasped Nemily’s hand and nodded. “Pleased to meet you. I work with Mace.”
“Welcome.”
The word, though spoken in a calm voice, overwhelmed all other sound. The babble that had formed a constant background was now gone, completely damped. A man stood in the center of the empty section, turning slowly, hands clasped behind his back, a grin on his long face. Mace recognized him: Reese Nagel, promoter, vacuum dealer, owner of 5555.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Reese repeated, his voice echoing slightly, amplified and deepened. “If everyone would gather closer, we can begin the entertainment. I need your attention for a few minutes, then I’ll stop boring you.”
Nemily pressed closer to Mace while ranks of people closed, working themselves as close to the edge as possible. Cambel frowned at Nemily, then turned her attention to Reese.
“Good,” Reese went on, “good. I’m glad you all could come. Tonight I’m giving a sample of a new event, just a taste to a select audience. I think I know you all, most of you anyway, and I know how you get your thrills. I think you’ll want more of this once you see it.”
He paused dramatically and did a full turn, smiling indulgently.
“I don’t pretend to understand all the technicalities of such a fate. I have people I pay who do, and no, I won’t tell you who they are. I don’t want a bidding war to start for their services, they work for me.” He laughed with the audience. “But we’ve been told for a long time, so long now that we accept it even if we don’t believe it, that direct news from Gaia is impossible. The satellites that would permit access to downwell ‘casts are all hardened against tapping, there are treaties preventing us from simple peeking, and the various data organizations down there use particle transcription that simply doesn’t bleed, so we must content ourselves with the occasional rumor or bit of sanitized drivel that Structural Authority releases. Now I personally don’t care at all for what we may be missing. I don’t think Gaia has a thing to say to me anymore. But being shut out is annoying. I’d like to know for myself that there’s nothing worthwhile happening downwell and I think you all feel the same.”
A murmur cascaded through the crowd.
“I thought so. That’s why I’ve been looking for another way. And because I’ve been looking, I found one. So that’s what I have to show you tonight. Some of our bright technicians have figured out how to tap the signals from certain stations downwell. They tell me that Earth has lost track of its network, that people down there don’t always know anymore where the transmissions they’re sending are going. A lot of the debris orbiting Earth still functions and we can use it. You might ask, of course, why this hasn’t been done before, and I might suggest that in fact it has. But you’d have to ask Structural Authority about that or maybe one of the megacorps why they never told us. In any case, we’ve liberated a few transmission lines and found a way to eavesdrop on the land of our birth. What you’ll be seeing is an actual decoded transmission from Mother Gaia, the cradle of our civilization, the rock that shut us out. Tonight’s peek is free, gratis. After that.. .we’ll see.”
The light rods winked out, leaving the chamber in near-total darkness. Here and there someone wore luminous jewelry, but it was dark enough that Mace could not see Nemily beside him. She found his hand, though, and squeezed, then traced a circle around the base of his thumb, a sensation he found instantly exciting.
The projectors overhead hummed faintly. Then the volume of air just above the empty area seemed to peel around itself, letting light escape in an unfolding eruption.
The image that formed was disorienting. A wide landscape, grass and trees in the foreground, rising hills, and a mountain range in the distance. A pedistry cut through the middle. Above the mountains, pale to dark, unbroken blue. It took Mace a few seconds to realize what he was seeing. His first thought was Mars. But the pitch and tone of the talk around him gained an anxious quality, fearful and incredulous, and he realized that most of these people had never seen the surface of a world other than in a vid held safely in their lap or displayed across a small
screen. They had never stood on a convex plain and gazed up at sky that did not end with the other side of the world, but continued on into void, infinite. And then Mace recognized his mistake. He had assumed it was Mars because that was familiar to him, but this scene was still alien, and he realized: Earth.
From the far right, movement disturbed the image. At first it made little sense. A mass of people, on foot, a faint swell of dust floating around their legs. Distance obscured detail, but it was clear that most of them carried burdens on their backs or in their arms. They formed a ragged line advancing on the grass, slowly. No one led, the entire group simply moved forward. Mace estimated quickly that the front rank contained maybe two hundred people. More. Silently, the throng continued its thick pour across the landscape, dust rising into drifting clouds that blew indolently back over those coming up from behind, the entire vast collection growing and growing, until, when the front line reached the edge of the road, halfway into the scene, the numbers clearly reached into the thousands. As if tapping an unused memory, one bequeathed from past generations, a recessive gene coding a specific collection of neurons, dormant till prodded, the reaction came with perfect clarity: this is wrong...
Mace shuddered at the soundless spectacle of the refugees.
The image winked away, superseded by another, at once more familiar and more foreign. In the background rose a squat structure, elegant, straight lines, wide windows, a pleasant pinkish grey and dark blue, standing upon a broad plaza that bore an enormous inlaid emblem that, from this angle, could not be resolved. But the structure was at least ten levels and the top extended out of the image field. A woman in a heavy black suit with green trim stood in the foreground. Her hair, brilliant silver, hemispheric, wrapped around the back of her head. Her mouth moved soundlessly for a few seconds. Then—
“—eterson Institute, Helsinki, threemay while in-code trans leak solid word about impending fracture in firewall structure. M. Toreggi essayed earlier that further incursions are inevitable without a key to the carrion. In brief, datapools compromised by the in situ assault by a member of the collation staff join other victims of the apparently global dispersion of the destructure plague. Me, Jaomi Kak, GNS—”
Again the image flickered, a new one pushing aside the old one.
Another road, this one wider, more complex, with sidings and dividers, leading to a distant horizon and an improbable collection of towers gleaming in unfiltered sunlight. A city On the road, people walked, a few rode elaborate pedaled vehicles, all of them moving with a purposeful belligerence away from the towers.
“—outside the city limits,” a voice thundered, the speaker invisible, “people believe it’s safe, though no one is certain they don’t carry the cont
agion with them. Las Cruces, once the fourth-largest city in this region of the continent, is now an abandoned monument to a past that is devouring itself. From here, it still appears vital, alive, even beautiful. Distance hides the decay that has thus far created six million refugees on a landmass that hasn’t seen this kind of desperation for the past seven decades—”
The space turned dark. Then a line of words scrolled raggedly across the air.
THYME? HERE. SCARED?
NO. YES. YOU STAYING?
CAN’T LEAVE. DA SAY TOO MUCH TO GIVE UP. HE CAN’T GO TO THE PLANT. INFRASTRUCTURE COMPROMISED. GOT FOOD? WATER?
SURE. SPRING-FED STREAM. CHICKENS. GARDEN. SECURITY? YES.
Then a final darkness, matched to the stillness in the clutch. For a moment Mace thought the dampers were still on. The light rods ignited, fluoresced from amber to azure, and the nervous chatter of the seriously unsettled filled the silence.
‘Thank you all,” Reese said, once more in the center of the floor. “I hope you liked—if that’s the right word—what you saw and that you’d like to see more. I have the next display scheduled, but this one will be by subscription. I’ve posted the rates on my usual boards. For the rest of the night, though, there is no charge. Enjoy.”
Talk eddied, backed up, flowed...
“—has to be a fake—”
“If not, then we know why SA won’t release—”
“—restrictions on external sources, the import regulations are very specific—”
“Float, bag, we all know what Reese thinks of re-gu-la-tions.”
“—tapped into the Archive, that’s where it’s from. Gaia’s not like that anymore, you see, not since the early days of the Exclusion—”
“How would you know?”
“—what passes for grammar anymore, if you can believe that actually came from downwell—”
Cambel tugged at Mace’s sleeve. “We should go talk to Reese.”
“Why?”
“This is relevant to our situation.” She smiled at Nemily. “Would you excuse us, Ms. Dollard?”
Nemily gave Mace a confused look, then shook her head. “Wait, please “ She closed her eyes and sighed. “Do you know Reese?”
“We do business with him,” Cambel said, frowning. “I know him. Do you?”
“I used to work for him. He asked me here tonight.” She pushed past them through the crowd and waved for them to follow.
As they followed Nemily, a tremendous pulse began throbbing in a steady walk-time. By his fifth step, a sinuous doubled bass line threaded around the beat and when he caught up to her, sliding easily through the cracks between people, an airy set of chords were swapping places.
Abruptly, Nemily stopped. He caught her shoulders, almost ramming her. She stood rigidly, muscles tensed, and Mace searched ahead for what she might have seen. But in the next moment she whirled, snatching his hand, and tugged him through the press in a new direction. Mace looked back to see Cambel doggedly following.
Nemily spun around. Her expression startled Mace. The sadness that had suffused it briefly earlier in the evening, that had surprised him, now was matched by a look of terror.
Cambel touched his arm. He looked at her and saw her mouth form the words “What’s wrong?” inaudibly through the thunder of music.
Abruptly, Nemily made for the exit, dodging around people with athletic precision. Mace pushed his way after her.
He caught up to her near the door. She stood before a man who was flanked by a pair of overadapted bouncers, one a female who looked on with evident concern. As Mace came up behind Nemily, the man looked up—Reese Nagel. The female bouncer moved to block Mace, but Reese held up a hand and stopped her.
Holding Nemily’s arm, Reese stepped closer to Mace. Abruptly, the sound died away to a distant rhythmic hum as Reese’s personal acoustic shadow enveloped him.
“You’re Nem’s friend? I’m Reese. She seems to be in some distress. She’s in sensualist, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“It’s been hours now. Who—?”
“She needs to swap it out. Come with me.” Reese looked past Mace and smiled. “Cambel, so good to see you. Are you with these people?”
Cambel stepped up alongside Mace. “Absolutely.”
“Please, all of you. Come to my office. Nemily needs some privacy.”
Reese, hand still on Nemily’s arm, turned to walk away. Mace reached out to stop him.
The female caught his wrist in a powerful grip and held his hand a few centimeters from Reese’s shoulder. Mace relaxed briefly until he felt her grip loosen, then twisted his hand free and closed his fingers around her wrist. He squeezed, enough to get a reaction from her, a brief tremble.
“I believe Nemily is with me, Mr. Nagel,” Mace said evenly.
Reese frowned at him, then glanced at his bouncer. She glared steadily at Mace.
“My apologies,” Reese said. “By all means. Coif?”
Mace let go and Coif lowered her arm slowly.
“Coif,” Reese repeated.
“Yes, sir,” she said tightly
“This way,” Reese said and led the way through the crowd.
Ten – AEA, 2118
NEMILY TOOK A SURPRISINGLY LONG TIME to process the memory, all the while staring at herself in the mirror above Reese’s sink in his marbled-wall bathroom, trembling and searching for her soul. The time chop in her head told her she had been in active sensualist now going on eight hours. In itself that was not unusual, but seldom in a pool of so much vivid sensory material. The gondola, which she had never ridden before, the Earth view, where she had never been before, and Mace, beneath her, between her thighs, in micro-g, which she had never done before, down to the Heavy, the nightclutch, Reese’s new event with all its odd perspectives and language and colors, finally seeing—
Too much, too wonderful, too awful. Collation complete, she exchanged the augment for her synthesist and wanted at once to return to the sensualist, take Mace home, and continue to absorb the night. With an effort, she closed her case and slipped it back into her pouch, just over her left hip. Blinking at her reflection, the colors seeming so ordinary now, she worked herself into a state of composure. The shuddering subsided and the images of the past several hours brought a residue of pleasure which she identified as normal. She washed her face and rested her forehead against the edge of the sink. She recalled every detail, every sensation, felt herself preen inside at the pleasure. The last hour or so, for all its wonderment, still felt like a long, fast fall, the end coming with a face she had never again expected to see.
She smoothed her clothes, moving unnecessarily just to escape the shaking in her hands. She studied her reflection until she found it convincingly calm, then walked back into Reese’s office.
Reese wore his Philosopher’s Face. He thought the slight pucker of his brow and intent set of his mouth gave him a look of intellectual sophistication. Instead, he only appeared indolently self-impressed. He was by no means a stupid man, but his strengths and talents encompassed far less than he imagined.
Mace sat on the long divan facing Reese’s desk, leaning forward, hands folded, elbows on knees. Cambel Guerrera stood at one end of the sofa, back against the wall, arms folded, her expression watchful. Coif leaned against the door; she smiled faintly when she saw Nemily.
Nemily sensed that she had just interrupted a conversation.
“Nem,” Reese said, “how are you? Better now?”
“Yes, thank you. Reese, was everyone here tonight by invitation only?”
He looked slightly puzzled by the question. “Well, you were allowed to bring a guest, obviously”
“Everyone else, too?”
“Of course.”
“Which,” Cambel said, “went against our recommendations.”
Reese smiled and looked apologetic. “Risks of the business, Cambel. Sometimes security can be counterproductive. I needed word-of-mouth more than I needed to
be safe from infringements.”
Cambel shook her head with mild disgust.
Mace watched Nemily with a closed, intent expression.
She did not want to be here anymore. She was tired and mistrusted her ability to make decisions.
“Thanks for the invitation, Reese,” she said, closing her eyes. “I know you wanted to discuss something... else... but I’m really—”
“Of course, I understand. Call me tomorrow?”
His abrupt acquiescence surprised her. She had expected him to argue a little, throw a display of mock petulance over being denied a chance to talk.
“Sure... if I’m up for it. Next day at the latest?”
“It’s rather important. Don’t take too long.”
Mace stood. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Nagel. I’m glad we finally got a chance to meet. This was the first time I’ve been to one of your events. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you. Impressing people is one of my passions. Especially when they’re people I do business with. I hope to see you again, Mr. Preston.”
They shook hands, regarding each other across the desk with false smiles, and Nemily recognized the tableau: cop and felon, security and risk.
“We’ll finish later, Reese,” Cambel said, moving toward the door.
“You want me to go with them?” Coif asked.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine on their own, Coif,” Reese said.
Coif opened the door for them and stood aside. As Nemily stepped through, Coif leaned close.
“Be careful,” she said.
At the bottom of the stairs, once more within the roar of the clutch, Mace put a hand on her shoulder and guided her toward the exit. Nemily did not look into the room, did not want to risk seeing or being seen, and gratefully moved ahead of Mace and Cambel, directly out of 5555.
“Who did you see?” Mace asked.
She licked her lips. “Someone I never thought I’d ever see again.”
“No one good?”
“His name is Glim Toler.”
“Toler,” Cambel said. “That name keeps coming up.”
Remains Page 18
