“Yes, both he and Doctor Chandrasekhar explained that – ah, Pinter, I mean!”
Ward looked at Emile apologetically, who simply smiled and waved dismissively.
“Well, that’s where things get a little more interesting.” Adler waved twice at the display. The first made the map disappear. The second replaced it with a data schematic.
Ward ran a keen eye over the holographic representation. It was intricate, to say the least. Even without much in the way of technical training, Ward could tell it was a quantum storage sleeve, a top-shelf one at that. One look at the data fields in the lower right-hand corner confirmed it had a tremendous capacity. From what he made of the overlaying architectures, they indicated it was heavily compressed and encrypted.
“This,” Ward said, coming to his feet and pointing at the schematic. “This is what Doctor Lee was carrying?”
“Good eye,” responded Adler. “It’s proprietary information. Lots of it.”
“More than that,” Emile interjected. “It is the sum total of our plans for the accelerated terraforming of Mars. All the information, details and work orders Pinter spoke of.”
Ward remembered the lengthy conversation he had had with the elder Chandrasekhar when he had first arrived. He imagined everything Pinter had spoken of would require a massive storage medium to hold it. Though he had to admit, he was somewhat surprised. When they had spoken of sensitive materials, he imagined it was something more discreet, more limited.
Ward gave the schematic a double take before looking at with an incredulous expression. “What the hell was he doing with this on him?”
Emile’s reply was somewhat woeful. “Doctor Lee was intrinsic to the planning of Pinter’s vision. He was somewhat proud of his work, and never liked it to be away from him.” The Formist ran a hand through his thick hair before dropping his hands to his sides, his head bowed. It was clear to Ward he was still having difficulty coming to terms with the loss of Doctor Lee and the material he was carrying.
“What’s more, he didn’t suspect for a moment anyone would be able to obtain it from him. The information is locked within his cortex. It cannot be removed unless someone has the proper decryption key.”
“So, it can’t be removed without his say-so,” Ward surmised. “I take it even if someone removed it, they wouldn’t be able to decrypt it either?”
Adler took this question. “Correct. The encryption on the files contained within the storage sleeve is the best we can manage. Without doubt, no one working for the Centimanes or any other Outer World Faction would be able to decrypt it.”
At last, a piece of good news, thought Ward as he looked over at Emile, directing a slight smirk at him. “But the longer it’s out there, you run the risk of someone who might be able to crack it finding it.”
Emile shifted in his seat uncomfortably, before bringing his hands together in prayer fashion. “As I have said, our plans to change this world have put us at odds with certain other interests in this system. And we must prepare for the worst. It is, after all, possible one of our competitors arranged for Doctor Lee’s capture to come into possession of those files.”
“If, unfortunately, Doctor Lee has perished, then the information will remain locked away in his wetware,” Adler interjected. “Whoever wants the files doesn’t need his body intact to be able to retrieve them. All they need are the implants themselves.”
“Or his head,” Ward ventured, his face deadpan. His comment didn’t make either of the other men as uncomfortable as Ward might have thought. Emile merely cleared his throat before continuing.
“In any case, you will be equipped with the necessary encryption key to remove the sleeve, should you find the good doctor is no longer with us. Your task, in that case, will be to bring the files back to us.”
“And what about Lee’s body? More material for the recycling systems?”
That suggestion elicited some discomfort. Plainly, Emile and Adler weren’t too upset by the idea of Doctor Lee being murdered and mutilated. However, the thought his remains might be irretrievably turned into food for Huygens’ greenhouses – that they found offensive.
“We will make arrangements to retrieve his remains, should the need arise,” Emile said bluntly. “Obviously, we don’t want it to come to that. But retrieval is key here, either of Doctor Lee, or of his personal effects.” Emile pointed to the data schematic. “Which includes those files.”
Ward gave the schematic one last look and nodded heartily. “All right. I got it. Is there anything else?”
Adler and Emile regarded each other silently. Apparently, there was. Adler took the lead once more.
“We’ve made arrangements for one of our associates to meet with you on Callisto.” One last wave of his hand, and the display showed a woman’s picture. “Her name is Janis Amaru. She’s one of many biochemical specialists in our employ. She’s currently stationed on Callisto, but was on Titan when Doctor Lee disappeared.”
“She was?” Ward turned to look at them. “Was she anywhere near him at the time?”
“Not according to her, or the local authorities. She was checked into her hotel at the time of the disappearance. They’d had a meeting earlier in the day along with several others, mostly people who worked for the local extraction operations.”
Ward frowned, looked back to her image. As appearances went, hers was unsurprising. Brown hair, eyes dark and intent. Her complexion was naturally dark, but had a certain wan quality hinting at many years working in the Outer Worlds. All told, she had a certain rugged beauty about her Ward might have found impressive at any other time.
“What about her locator?” he asked. “Does it back up her story?”
“She doesn’t have one,” Adler replied, again with a certain carefulness suggesting embarrassment. Ward was surprised to hear of her lack of this most basic implant. His face must have betrayed his thoughts, as Emile felt the need to expand on this point.
“Doctor Amaru is somewhat traditionalist as well, more so than Doctor Lee. She of course underwent the requisite neural procedures when she was younger, she has a neural loom and plenty of other augments. She has lived without a cerebral implant for quite some time. She claims such a thing is unnecessary, what with her working on worlds beyond the reach of the Survey.”
Ward felt compelled to ask an obvious question. “So, she’s not exactly a Retro, then?”
Emile laughed. “No, Mr. Ward. She’s Cytherean, born and raised. When she joined our organization, she did so with the intent of advancing the cause of all Formists, both here and on her own world. Besides, we would hardly trust such important work to someone local. They haven’t been known to be too accommodating.”
Ward hesitantly accepted that. It seemed his old detective instincts had been roused for a moment. Perhaps it was the mere mention she would be showing him around that made him want to scrutinize her in more depth. Ward shook it off. More likely it was her presence near the scene of the crime which had caused him to pause. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be of help.”
“She will,” Adler said. “Doctor Amaru will not be interfering with your investigation in any way. She’s there to give you a sense of the land. No one knows our operations in more detail on either world better than Amaru. We thought she might be able to point you in certain directions when the time comes.”
“All right.” Ward crossed his arms, his eyes lingering on the visage in front of him. His detective instincts were raising their fair share of doubts, thoughts, suggestions, and contingencies. It felt odd, entertaining so many thoughts at once, being able to think with such clarity. As with many other things, it was one of the more positive aspects of having a neural loom and working in conjunction with the other augments he had thought he had forgotten.
One possible issue jumped out at him as he considered his next step.
“What about currency? I imagine I’ll have to pay my way through certain spots. Are any credit lines being made available?”
&nbs
p; “Of course.” Emile nodded. “You’ll have access to funds, and you can consider them inexhaustible. Provided you don’t try to buy an entire moon.”
Emile snickered. Adler didn’t join him, his face remaining stoic. Ward smiled awkwardly. He imagined Emile wasn’t exaggerating when he used the word “inexhaustible.”
“What about weaponry?”
Emile looked to Adler, deferring the question to the man tasked with Ward’s security.
“We’ll be monitoring your situation continuously. And we’ll naturally have armaments enough to protect you. Just in case, we’ve made sure you have a sidearm for the job. Something that won’t be singled out by customs or security officials.”
Ward nodded approvingly. Knowing he wouldn’t be dangled out like a worm on a hook, with no means of defending himself, made the job considerably more appealing. It also didn’t hurt that Emile was offering considerable pay on top of a voided sentence.
Ward took a moment to process it all one last time. When he was sure he had asked all he needed to, he clapped his hands together sharply.
“When do I head out?”
Emile stood up, smiling happily. The Formist extended his hands, palms uppermost, as if to hand him something.
“Soon enough, Mr. Ward. But before that, I would like to extend you a little leave.”
Ward cocked an eyebrow.
“We have arranged a transport to take you to Callisto, though it will be another two Sols before it is ready to depart. During this time, you are free to enjoy yourself around Ares and Mars. I know you must be curious to see what else has changed in the past few years. Why waste an opportunity to see these changes for yourself?”
Ward felt his jaw drop open slightly in surprise at Emile’s generous offer. The man had been nothing if not lavish since their introduction. “Thank you, sir. That’s very generous.”
“Think nothing of it, Mr. Ward. We want you well rested, alert, and relaxed before you begin investigating Doctor Lee’s whereabouts.”
Emile extended his right hand to Ward, who happily accepted it and shook it heartily. Though they had already agreed on all the terms of the job, it seemed they were only now officially sealing the deal. And it felt good, Ward had to admit.
“I must emphasize one thing before you take your leave of us,” Emile said, looking suddenly, and deadly, serious. “Under no circumstances, for any reason whatsoever, are you to approach or contact Mr. Xaver.”
Ward felt suddenly cold; his hand began to fidget involuntarily. The name hadn’t exactly been on his mind in days, not with everything else that had been going on. Knowing the man was in the same planetary system was one thing, but at no point had he even thought about crossing paths with him. And last he’d checked, the man wasn’t on Ares or Mars.
“Do we understand each other, Mr. Ward?” Emile pressed, all the while holding onto Ward’s hand.
Ward gave him a crooked smile. “If ever I were to meet him again, sir, it would be to end his life. And since that would jeopardize whatever chances I have to do this job and void my sentence, I can’t imagine why I would.”
For his part, Adler frowned, but kept whatever doubts he might be harboring to himself. Emile held Ward’s eye for another moment before releasing his grip.
“Good. Then you are free to take some time on the surface. Contact whomever you wish, do what you will. In addition to avoiding any and all contact with Xaver, I must insist you be back here within two Sols. And be free and clear of any recreational substances.”
Ward smiled through the bitter taste in his mouth. Once again, there appeared to be a limit to the amount of trust Emile was willing to place in him. He couldn’t find a rational reason why he shouldn’t, but the sting remained.
“You can rest easy, Doctor Chandrasekhar.” Ward said, through stiff lips. “I have no appetite for revenge or oblivion right now. All that matters to me is the job.”
Thirteen
Hello, old stomping grounds.
Ward said the words in his mind, but he didn’t quite feel them. Before him was the sprawling city of Pavanopolis, a sea of lights, dancing images, and glittering foglets. Everywhere he looked, augmented humans were walking about, flying between perches, interacting with virtual displays or overlays only they could see.
And yet, he felt virtually nothing. For years, he had dreamed of seeing it again. Now he was here, it seemed too surreal.
The trip down had been much the same. During the long ride down the Drift, that marvel of human engineering linking the surface to the Ares Installation, Ward had chosen to remain secured in his cabin, refusing to mingle in the observation lounge with the other passengers. Here and there, he would peek out the window to see the Red Dunes rushing up to meet him, seeing a shining band of satellites and the terrestrial glow of cities glimpsed through a raging sandstorm rolling in on the eastern hemisphere.
He had thought it would be a huge relief to see it all again. Why was it the opposite?
Luckily, by choosing not to enjoy the scenic vistas a trip along the Drift provided, he had plenty of time to look over the data provided to him by Emile and Adler. After a quick précis of Doctor Lee’s dossier, he began flipping through the files of all the people he was sure to rub elbows with, from Callisto to Titan.
There was an extensive list of political figures on Callisto and Titan, all the elected or appointed officials whose contact information might come in handy at some point in the mission. There was also Director Ranocker, the police commissioners for the colony city of Huygens. Her second was a man named Boyagan, whom Emile had indicated would be his point man with the local Gendarmerie. Once he was arrived and settled, this officer would be familiarizing him with the details of the case, and any updated information they had to offer.
On the other side of things, there was Jaida Finch, the leader of the Centimanes. A former ice-miner and labor organizer, she had taken to politics after a clash between striking miners and the local authorities had left several of her colleagues injured, and two dead. Among her supporters, she was a rock. To her detractors – the people who typically ran things on Titan – she was an agitator and a troublemaker. A typical situation, really. Especially where politics in the Outer Worlds was concerned.
Then there was Koryo Nan, her head of security. Finch had been implicated in several incidents which had taken place in the past few years – everything from information being leaked to the public to demonstrations and strikes. Nan, on the other hand, had been directly connected to several crimes, long before he had enlisted with the Centimanes.
If Finch was the rock keeping the Centimanes aloft, Nan was most likely the scorpion hiding beneath it. Knowing he might have to deal with both, soon enough, was more exciting to Ward than being in the familiar surroundings of his home city.
“Welcome to Pavonopolis,” said a voice to his side. “May I offer any assistance?”
Ward glanced to his left and spotted the foglet hovering less than a meter away. It had formed into a smiling face and was emitting bright light, alternating between orange, yellow, violet and magenta.
“No, thank you,” said Ward.
“Are you sure?” pressed the foglet. “Your biometrics indicate you have not been to Pavonopolis in some time, Mr. Ward.”
Ward turned away, ignoring the foglet. Though it was just a cloud of nanoware vectored to Mangala – the Level IV sentience that ran things on the planet – he didn’t feel like letting it see him scowl. It was scarcely a surprise the system had updated his ID to account for him being stripped of his old rank of Inspector. But hearing it put so bluntly was not the easiest thing.
His newfound indignation did give him an idea, though.
“I need a ride to the Pink Miasma. Is it still in operation?”
The cloud cycled colors and swiftly responded. “Yes, it is, sir. Located in the Kanbaliq district. I estimate transit will take thirteen minutes and twenty-six seconds by ground car. Shall I call you one now?”
“
Do that,” Ward said. He began walking to the nearest street corner, allowing the foglet to follow him as it did its thing. When it finished, it turned bright orange and ascended above him. It was unnecessary, given the extent to which all systems in the colony were connected. But a shiny beacon light was aesthetically pleasing, and hence something the foglets did.
“Your car has been summoned. It will be here in one minute and thirteen seconds.”
“Not bad,” muttered Ward. The response time had improved somewhat since he’d left. The people of Pavonopolis didn’t like waiting. What they did like was living in a colony run efficiently. He only hoped the staff at the Miasma were as efficient as he remembered. They specialized in making their customers happy, and knew of countless ways to make that happen.
The shuttle pulled up a moment later. As soon as the vehicle came to a full stop, a seam formed in the frame, outlining a door which slid open to admit him. The foglet descended to Ward’s shoulder level to see him off.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Ward. If ever you need assistance, merely ask the system for help.”
An instructional pamphlet appeared in Ward’s visual field, indicating the various ways Ward might summon a foglet to assist him. These included using verbal, subvocal, or gesture command, not to mention any of the colony’s many terminals and access points. He cursorily waved the information away and said goodbye to his helper.
“Thanks, Mangala. I’m sure I can take it from here.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Ward.”
Within minutes, the automated car was cruising up Pavonopolis’ main artery, the Syria Planum Speedway, towards the Rennstrecke. Ward watched the lights go by overhead and the traffic markers fly past on the side of the highway. The scene prompted him to remember a pleasant conversation. Guernsey had said how much he wanted to see this stretch of highway again. Was it an injustice he was getting to do that while his old friend was still languishing on the Rock?
But of course, Guernsey had said as much. This was how things were.
Still, he saw why, to a man like Guernsey, a place like this was worth remembering. Though the experience of being driven down it at five hundred kilometers an hour had always seemed somewhat manic to Ward – not to mention psychedelic, thanks to the bright lights and vivid colors – cruising down it felt like total freedom now. After years of being locked up in tiny hovels, such speed and open places felt oh, so liberating.
The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1) Page 12
