Dreaming Metal

by Melissa Scott

  “Nice work.”

  “Thanks.” He shook his head, and I could see the sweat fly from his hair. “But it shouldn’t have happened. I don’t understand it.”

  “Neither do I.” That was Terez, and not on the intercom. I looked toward the voice, and saw her hurrying toward us. For an instant, I wondered who was on the stage manager’s console, but then over her shoulder I saw one of the assistants hunched over the controls. “Fortune, can I borrow Celeste?”

  If she’s willing. I swallowed those words, nodded instead. “Celeste? You heard?”

  “I heard.” Her voice came from the fly board’s speaker. “What can I do for you, bi’ Terez?”

  The stagehand’s eyes cut toward the speaker, surprise and something like fear warring on his face. I suppressed the desire to laugh—nerves more than humor—and Terez said, still placid, “Without George, we’re having trouble mediating between the subsystems and the console. Can you intervene?”

  “If I do that,” Celeste said, “I won’t be able to manage the act.”

  “I can handle the board for that part of the show,” Terez said. She looked at me. “That means you won’t have the virtual, Fortune, but otherwise I’m going to have to call the show.”

  And that was the unforgivable sin. I nodded. “All right. I’m not happy, but let’s do it.”

  “Very well,” Celeste said.

  Terez sighed, relieved, and I said, “Terez.”

  “Yeh?”

  “I’ll want to talk to you about causes. When this is over.”

  Terez managed a grim smile. “You and me both, Fortune.”

  I felt Celeste move away from me, her attention already on the part of the system that George had occupied. She had had at least some of the access codes, I remembered, and Terez could give her the rest. Even as I thought that, Terez looked back toward the console, and I watched her walk the depth of the stage to lean over the assistant stage manager’s shoulder.

  It didn’t take as long as I’d feared to clear the stage and replace the light, but it was long enough for the audience to get restless. I could hear it in their voices as they returned to their seats, and in the roar with which they greeted the rising curtain. But after that the rest of the second half went suprisingly well: the house wasn’t full, but the people who were here were willing to meet the acts halfway. As I brought up the karakuri and took my place for our entrances, I could almost feel their excitement, pushing the puppeteers to new heights. And then that was over, and Celeste was back with me.

  #Ready,# she murmured. #Virtual is blank, hologram is in place, karakuri are under full control. Confirm overrides?#

  #Confirmed,# I agreed, and stepped back to let the puppeteers pass in the narrow space. #Cue the music.#

  #Starting music,# Celeste answered, and an instant later the familiar strains of my music filled the hall. I heard the audience rustle, a sound like a sigh as they settled in, and I felt the familiar thrill. They were waiting for me, for my act, and I was ready for them. I stepped forward between the twin towers that were my only set, into position for my first appearance, checked my marks to be sure I was in place. The checks sparked reassuringly green, and I took a deep breath.

  #Ready,# I said, and Celeste answered instantly, our own private code.

  #Steady.#

  The lights at the corners of my eyes confirmed it, the pale purple guidebeams just visible, a haze in the air. Anyone who was wired—and who’d turned their suits up far enough—could see them, but there was nothing I could do about that tonight. #Go,# I said, and the curtain swept back to reveal myself walking on, arms spread in apology.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please accept my apologies for the technical problem. We’ve had a slight malfunction in the lighting computer, and the show will have to proceed without the lighting effects planned for this evening.”

  The audience groaned, and I couldn’t repress a brief snort of laughter. Tonight, of all nights, that was closer to the truth than I liked to think about. Given the extended interval, the audience might actually believe it, too.

  “No?” the karakuri asked, in my voice. “Then we will have to try—this.” Its hand rose, tossing the glittering, multicolored hologram ball, and the stage lights flashed on. In the sudden glare, I hurried forward, so that I seemed to appear in the flash of light, and the hologram that had clothed the karakuri vanished. I spread my own arms in greeting, letting the hanten jacket’s bright brocade catch the light, and the karakuri bowed in welcome while the audience cheered their delight.

  I had never had an audience like this before. They were with me from the moment I stepped on the stage, as they’d been with every act tonight, wanting to be mystified—wanting to love me. They gasped at Compression, giggled and then gasped at Disassembly and then cheered the restored karakuri for thirty seconds longer than I’d expected, so that Celeste had to juggle the music for a discordant moment. Even that didn’t put them off, however, and they were with me for every second of Vanishment. The illusion is spectacular to begin with, something no other conjurer does on Persephone, but when karakuri and silk vanished together, and then reappeared between my helpers, I thought the applause would deafen me. As it was, I didn’t hear Celeste’s first cue, and had to have it repeated before I signaled the transformer to come on stage.

  There was a sudden silence as it appeared, and then a few hissing whispers, people who’d seen the act before or who’d heard about it murmuring to their friends. This was the one illusion I was concerned about, given what had happened tonight, but in the end I needn’t have worried. This was an audience that had ignored Realpeace’s list to come here; they were more than willing to be titillated by the humaniform karakuri. When I vanished and then reappeared from within the transformer’s frame, I won the ultimate reward, a heartbeat’s silence before the applause. They stood for me and the karakuri—a small audience, but choice—and stayed standing for the curtain call, made us come back twice before Terez could finally bring down the curtain.

  I stood there for a moment as the rest of the acts filed off, trying to catch my breath—I hadn’t been working any harder than usual, but the applause had got me going, and I was trying to cool down. Celeste had pulled away again, I guessed to help Terez finish shutting down, and to my surprise Fanning waved at me from the wings.

  *Great—* He added a second sign that I didn’t recognize, but I guessed he was complimenting me on the act.

  The karakuri were at the back of the stage, more or less out of the way for now, and I moved to join him, putting off the inevitable letdown.

  “Thanks,” I said, and he grinned at me.

  “You were great. I’ve rarely seen you better.”

  “I didn’t have virtual tonight,” I said, and he shook his head.

  “You didn’t need it.”

  “Thanks, Fan.” Then, for the first time, his presence really registered. This wasn’t one of their performance nights; he should have been playing in the clubs, or at home. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  His smile faltered. “Um, we had a bit of trouble. Fire/Work was on the list, with the goddow’s address, and Security suggested we find somewhere else to sleep.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.” For an instant, I thought of my own place, the mark on the outside door, and hoped everything was all right. Or if it wasn’t, I hoped my programs did some harm. “They listed the workshop, too. And somebody drew a rejection glyph on my front door.”

  “Bastards.” He shook his head, then shrugged, forcing a smile again. “Anyway, Binnie said we could stay in the practice room for as long as we need. Security seemed to think the Empires would be pretty safe.”

  I nodded. “I can’t imagine they’d let anything happen. There’s too much money here.” Which is part of what makes them a target, I added silently, but shook the thought away. The night had gone too well to borrow trouble.

  “Fortune!” That was Terez, the various acts parting before her, and Fanning took a quick step
backward.

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “I’ll grab you later,” I called, but he was already into the wings. I looked at Terez. “What’s up?”

  “That construct of yours—” I froze, but then I saw she was grinning. “Damn, it’s—she’s—a joy to work with. Whoever built her for you, I want the name.”

  I took a breath, wondering how to answer that, but she was already rushing on. “We had some more problems, system glitches, a golem freezing, but she handled them like a pro. I bet you didn’t even notice them.”

  I frowned, remembering a couple of unexpected orange lights that had vanished almost as quickly as they’d appeared. “You’re right. I didn’t.”

  “And on top of that,” Terez said, “there was another clip, I don’t know what it is yet, but another goddamn payload. And Celeste just spotted it, pocketed it, and went on like nothing happened. It’s in isolation, and Binnie’s going to hand it over to Security as soon as we can get somebody down here to take it.”

  “Good for her,” I said. “That’s great.”

  “It was great,” Terez went on, “she was great, and, on top of that, you were great. The whole second half really pulled together. A nice night.” She paused, catching her breath, and went on a little more slowly. “But I need a favor, Fortune.”

  “I might have known,” I said, but couldn’t make it sound serious.

  Terez smiled. “It would be very helpful if Celeste could close down with me. I’ve still got some mediation problems, without George, and there’s still a risk of foreign code in the system. Celeste would make it a lot easier.”

  I smiled back. “No problem, Terez. Truly.”

  “Thanks,” she said, and looked over her shoulder. “Look, I’ve got to run.”

  “No problem,” I said again, but she was already gone. The stage was nearly empty, just a couple of the stagehands at the back starting to take down my towers, and I looked for the nearest pinlight. #Celeste?#

  Her answer, when it came, was distant: Terez already had her working on the shutdown. #Yes?#

  #Nothing important,# I said, quickly. #But I’m proud of you. You did extremely well.#

  #Thank you,# Celeste answered, and this time I was sure she sounded pleased. I smiled myself, happy for her—happy for me in having her—and touched my wrist control to turn my suit back down to normal levels.

  Security guessed later that this was when the first fire started, one small incendiary device placed in the trash tunnels behind the lower-level dressing rooms. It was a fuck-up from the start, at least from Realpeace’s point of view: the Empire was supposed to be empty, emptied by the clip that hadn’t run and that no one had checked, or at worst by the technical glitches they’d introduced into the house system. They’d made no provision for us managing to finish the show, or for the Tin Hau still being full, not just of the crew and the casts of the various acts, but the lobby-show workers and the house staff and the casts of other acts, like Fanning and the rest of Fire/Work, who’d either been rehearsing or had come to see the show, or were hiding out here because they’d been put on the list and the Empires were supposed to be safe. I had started down to my dressing room when I caught the first whiff of smoke—it was sweet, almost, then, not at all like fire, so for an instant I thought someone had lit incense, and guessed they were thanking their gods for the good night. Then one of the first-act dancers came up the midpoint stair, in street clothes already, jacket and gold-shot sarang, looking neither as tall nor as pretty as she did on stage. She was frowning, unusually, and I gave her a curious look.

  “I smelled smoke,” she said, and I nodded.

  “I did, too, a minute ago. Incense, I think.”

  “Not down there,” she answered. “It was, well, electrical, but the alarms haven’t gone.”

  I looked around for a pinlight, and had to step sideways to align with it. #Celeste? Is everything all right?#

  Her answer was reassuringly prompt. #All indicators are green. We’re still cleaning out the system, though. Was there anything in particular?#

  I sniffed again, and thought I caught a hint of smoke—not incense, definitely, something sharper—but it was gone before I could be certain. #Fire detection. Are the detectors working?#

  #All indicators are green,# Celeste said again. #Should I send a golem to check it out?#

  I hestitated. #No—yeh, when you get a chance.#

  #Very well,# Celeste answered, and I looked away from the light.

  Someone else was coming up the stairs, a thin young man, a coolie, but I didn’t really recognize him out of his stage dress. He looked at the dancer, signed something I couldn’t understand, and she looked at me.

  “I don’t know. Do you know if anybody’s got a cookstand?”

  Cookstands were strictly banned from the Tin Hau, and half the dressing rooms and practice rooms had them. “I don’t,” I answered, and glanced into the nearest half-open door. “Shauna does, but it’s off.”

  “It’s down here anyway,” the young man said. He shook his head. “I keep thinking I smell something, and then it’s gone.”

  “Me, too,” the dancer said.

  I looked along the hall, counting closed and open doors. About half the people on this floor had left already, but I could check the rest, and Celeste could give me keycodes to the locked doors—though if there was a fire, the alarms should have sounded long ago. I could remember a few years back, when an overboiled tea urn had set off the system. “Let me check here,” I said, “and you two take a walk downstairs, see if you can spot anything.”

  “Haya,” the dancer said, looking relieved. The young man nodded, and they headed back down the stairs. I made my way along the hall, tapping on doors and asking the people who answered to check their appliances. Most of them hadn’t noticed anything, but the singer who had the room opposite me answered my question with a worried frown.

  “I already checked mine twice,” he said. “I thought I was smelling something, but I thought it came from the trash.”

  I slid the chute open, careful of the shredding teeth just inside the opening, and bent to sniff. The air that puffed out smelled of rotten fruit and paper, and the thin slick solvent we all used on our makeup, but there was a hint of something else as well. I found the safety button, held it down, and leaned closer. Something acrid and unpleasant wafted out at me, a smell that might have been smoke.

  “There it is again,” the singer said.

  “Yeh.” I straightened, looked for a node, and found one high in the corner of the room. “Celeste. I think something’s wrong in the trash system. Can you check it out?”

  “All my indicators are green,” she answered.

  “What about fire?”

  “Nothing.” She paused. “If there’s a problem, it’s either outside my sensor reach, or my sensors have been disabled.”

  Both of which were at least theoretically possible, and therefore had to be considered. I looked at the singer, and he looked back at me, the same fear I felt reflecting in his eyes. “Tell Terez that I think there’s a problem,” I said. “Binnie, too.” I glanced at the trash chute again, trying to imagine the layout of the tubes and tunnels. “Where does this go?”

  “The trash chute drops down to the next level, where there’s a conveyor system to take it into the main sorting bins. They’re on the lowest level, behind the keeping,” Celeste answered.

  “I’m going to check the next levels down,” I said, and looked at the singer. “Will you let the people here know that there may be a problem?”

  “Haya,” he answered, and scooped up the carryall that had been lying beside his chair.

  There were more people in the lower corridor—this was where the lower-ranking groups and the chorus kids dressed, so there were more of them anyway, and more people who ate and slept as cheaply as they could. The young man I’d seen before was at the center of one group, and he broke off signing to say aloud, “Is there anything?”

  I shook my h
ead. “Somebody said he smelled smoke from the trash. Anybody checked that?”

  I saw headshakes, and signed nos, and a woman said, “We don’t have chutes in all the dressing rooms, we use the one at the end of the hall.”

  Most of them turned to look, and I suppressed a curse. Somehow I was becoming the person in charge. “Haya,” I said aloud, and they moved aside for me to pass.

  The chute was latched, the checkplate glowing red to signal a full load. I started to empty it, but stopped, and hit the override key instead. The door slid back, and I wrinkled my nose at the sight and smell of the garbage. But there was more than garbage, I realized instantly. I could smell smoke now, quite clearly, and when I stuck my hand into the opening the air was warmer than it should be. I swore, and closed the chute again, looking around for a contact node.

  “Trouble?” the young man asked, and I nodded, not taking my eyes from the pinpoint of red light.

  “I think the trash is on fire. Celeste?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do we do?” the young man asked, and someone shushed him.

  “Celeste, there seems to be a fire somewhere in the trash system.” Despite my efforts to stay calm, I could hear my voice tighten, felt the first tremors of fear in my back. “Can you sound the alarm?”

  “Confirmed.” There was a moment of silence, and then her voice came again. “Fortune, something is overriding my command. I’ve informed Terez and Muthana, but I cannot work the alarm.”

  “Shit.” I swallowed the hard pulse of fear. “Where’s the nearest manual alarm?”

  “At the foot of the stairs,” one of the dancers answered, and Celeste echoed him an instant later.

  “Pull it.” I winced as the strident Klaxon sounded, and raised my voice to carry over its noise. “The rest of you, get out of here—pull every alarm you see on your way out, but get out fast.”

  #I agree,# Celeste said, and I found a moment to be surprised at how easily her soft voice cut through the Klaxon. #I have fire warnings in the keeping now, and possibly in the east basement. I am trying to activate the area sprinklers, but they are not responding.#