The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1)

by Matthew Williams

  “And what if she’s no longer with us?”

  Ward stopped and smiled at Houte. “I know she’s still alive, Franklin. I know she’s listed as a dependent of yours.”

  “Still the Inspector, huh?” Houte said, shaking his head.

  “Even if I dug up that basic information, I know there’s no way you would ever abandon your sister, or let her fend for herself.”

  “Still, you come all this way after such a long time, and the first thing you ask of me is to use my sister for her talents?”

  Houte sounded genuinely angry as he said this. General protectiveness and personal offense. Ward would have felt a little threatened, were it coming from anyone else.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t very important. I’m in the middle of something here, and I need to get my bearings. Besides, I can promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Houte folded his arms. “You still using the old Dosh system?”

  “Of course,” Houte snarled. “Not much else in use, less the Aquilines or Joves take power, start issuing their own currencies.”

  Ward called up an overlay and accessed his credit lines. He promptly accessed the shop’s billing address and issued the necessary commands.

  “Check your account,” he said. Houte reached behind the counter, producing a small handheld before tapping a few commands in. His mood softened enough to let Ward know he was impressed.

  “This my payment in advance?” he asked.

  “It’s an installment,” Ward stated. “Ten percent up front, the rest in two installments over the next two months.”

  All traces of anger dropped from Houte’s face, replaced by wide-eyed amazement.

  “Who the hell are you working for?”

  Ward chuckled, cracking a wide grin. “That’s what I’m hoping to figure out.”

  #

  Fulfilling the favor Ward had asked of Houte necessitated they wait until closing time, when Houte’s business hours finally expired. Closing up the shop, they made their way to the nearest stop on the Skyline. Despite the fact Houte resided in the same ring he did business in, Valhalla’s innermost rings – Nifelheim and its neighbor Muspelheim – still measured several hundred kilometers across.

  It was now late and Valhalla was entering its evening cycle. The dome overhead simulated a perfectly believable sunset, complete with an orange glow reaching halfway around the artificial horizon. Like clockwork, the streets lights responded, painting everything with a soft glow from their bioluminescent bulbs and panels. As they left the district where Houte’s shop was located and made their way along one of Niflheim’s many thoroughfares, they were treated to an entire world awash in soft green, blue and yellow light.

  For a first-time visitor, it would certainly seem calming and beautiful. For Ward, though, the feel of his Rutger underneath his overcoat provided a more tangible feeling of reassurance. The beauty of the biolights didn’t change the fact that this district, one of Valhalla’s oldest, was the last place he wanted to get caught off guard. Unlike the outer rings of the settlement – Vanaheim and Alfheim – the innermost section of Valhalla, the “old colony,” had been built in the earliest days of settlement.

  Back then, the Jovian system was still a massive venture attracting the brave, the bold and the intensely ambitious. Valhalla, the mighty, many-ringed crater, seemed like the perfect place to set down and begin the process of colonization. Those who had chosen to become the first pioneers of the Jovian system had to be content knowing they would be spending the rest of their days on a frozen world, living indoors, breathing recycled air, and eating plant proteins for the rest of their days.

  But in exchange, they got to be pioneers in a new age of exploration and settlement. As time went on and the colony expanded, more of the crater’s rings were incorporated into the settlement. The domed structure embracing the colony was expanded, valleys of granite-hard ice were covered in spray rock and made level, and habitats were constructed on top. The core would always remain the original settlement, but time, demographic changes, and economic pressures altered the landscape.

  From the beginning, Callisto was a home for people looking to escape the crush of the terrestrial planets. As the outermost Jovian, it was destined to serve as the connector between Inner and Outer Worlds, hardly a hop from Ceres and two hops from Mars. And as the prospectors, shippers, and businesses seeking to develop trade and exploit the system’s resources moved in, they tended to put down in the outer rings.

  Where they lived, things tended towards the Extro lifestyle, with all the frenetic energy this entailed. This had the invariable effect of forcing other people – the ones who were looking to stay clear of that – to move closer to Valhalla’s interior. It wasn’t long before Nifelheim and Muspelheim became known for being enclaves of Retro people, culture, sensibilities and – as Ward was learning, this was becoming more prominent – politics.

  And here he was, moving among them. To anyone who looked closely, Ward knew he would immediately be identifiable as one of “them.” Franklin knew this too, and seemed more than a little uncomfortable as they waited for the Skyline. More than his appearance, his manner was also making his friend nervous.

  “You need to stop standing like that,” Houte said in hushed tones. Ward looked at him blankly. “The way you stand, you look nervous, but ready to pounce. It’s the look of a policeman. Nervous and ready to retaliate. You need to stop giving off that vibe.”

  Ward sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re getting on the wrong side of the law these days too.”

  “The Aquilines ain’t exactly known for being friends of the Assembly. This makes them the enemies of the local constables. Search and seizure, scans, harassment, they all regular if you Aquiline.”

  “And these people, the ones who don’t ingratiate themselves to the authorities. These are the people you want the business of?”

  Houte gave him a sideways look. “It isn’t the Front I wanna keep happy. It’s the people that believe in it. Which, right now, is most people in this end of the city. Don’t want to be on the wrong side of public opinion now, do I?”

  The way the wind blows, Ward thought, remembering his earlier allusion. So, that was two strikes he had against himself right now. How to go about addressing this? His guardedness was due to his standing out. But his standing out necessitated he be wary. It was quite the paradox.

  The Skyline was relatively packed. Houte led them to some seats at the rear, where fewer people were to be found. Still, Ward felt a few sets of eyes directed at them. The Extro and the man he sat close to, an undeniable native. Ward did some watching of his own, noting the commonality of red epaulettes and eagles, the identifiers of the Aquiline Front. He also noted a distinct connection between these and the eyes looking at him with the greatest scorn.

  There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to not look like a cop. Rather than trying to project an air of calm, Ward did his best to convey the fact he was armed and uncomfortable. It seemed like the best way of ensuring trouble kept its distance.

  Eventually, Houte got up from his seat and whispered in Ward’s direction.

  “Here.”

  Ward obliged and stood a moment after Houte, disembarking with him as soon as they arrived at the next stop. Descending the platform, they stepped onto the street again and began walking briskly.

  “I see what you mean,” said Ward. “A lot of people are flying the flag.”

  “This job you got better be worth it,” replied Houte.

  “Do you need to look at your credit statement again?”

  Houte scoffed and kept walking. Only a few more blocks lay between them and his domicile now. The structures they passed looked particularly nondescript beneath a dark canopy now showing stars, the route ahead lighted with a bright glow the color of papaya flesh.

  #

  Constance Melinda Houte. The name given to her at birth and the one which showed up in every bit of personal information still in existence concerning her on the
Survey. There were pictures of her, transcripts, accounts numbers, work histories and enough medical, consumer and tracking data to fill a short, but poignant lifetime. A lifetime ago for the poor girl.

  To those who knew her nowadays, or since she and Houte had relocated to the Jovian system, she was merely Clio. An ethereal entity, there one minute and gone the next. Always leaving a sign of her passage, usually in the form of resolved technical issues or solutions to impossible problems.

  How many engineers, technicians, bureaucrats, functionaries, or struggling individuals had claimed, in one troubling moment or the next, they had been “visited” by Clio? The slippery Muse who showed up in the Jovian network at seemingly random moments, bringing help and relief to those who needed it. Sometimes it was as simple as fixing the problem they were working on, other times it was finding the necessary funds they needed to make ends meet.

  Theories on what she was ranged considerably. Some held she was an AI which had been part of the original settlement team, a program to help the surveyors and builders work out logistical problems. This program, so the argument went, had been left behind by accident and now roamed the network, looking for ways to fulfill its old purpose.

  Others believed she was a fragment of an early quantum-consciousness, something which had flittered in from the Survey years back and performed odd tasks as it waited to die from decoherence and the collapse of its wave function. Others still thought she was an angel living in the digital realm, a “ghost” in the network living to right wrongs.

  Ward had even heard it suggested she was an uploaded mind, someone who had willingly merged her mind with the network before her death. According to this theory, she was the remains of someone who had suffered terrible loss or committed terrible sins, and who was now doing charitable deeds to find comfort or redemption.

  Whatever version people chose to believe, all certainly agreed when it came to the most basic facts about Clio. She was a playful soul, sometimes the merciful cherub and at others, the avenging angel. And whether she was smiting the wicked or helping the needy, she never remained in one place long enough for anyone to get a good look at her. That above all was what made her so mysterious.

  Now Ward found himself standing scarcely a stone’s throw away from her.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  “The same,” answered Houte. The expression on his face told a different story. A combination of admiration and pity; respect for what she had become, mixed with lament over what she had lost. Given the circumstances of Clio’s creation, there was no other way to feel.

  She didn’t look much different from how Ward remembered her: as thin and frail as always, but possessed of a strange inner strength. Her skin looked sallower and her hair – that which she had – looked greyer. It was still close-shaven around the parts of her skull where the biomimetic implants were located – the quantum processors had been merged with her neurology many years ago. And her eyes were still two shining, segmented globes constantly staring into the distance.

  Like so many people who had willingly entered one of the Autonomous Research Zones back on Earth or Luna, she had gone in as a human and emerged as something else. A being utterly ambiguous in nature. Synthetic, biologic, and biomimetic. A true post-human.

  How ironic was it that her brother had chosen to greet this transformation by ferrying her to a world where such beings were never to be found?

  “I take it she still entertains herself by stalking the corridors of the local network, huh?”

  “Only way to keep her occupied,” Houte said. “Lately she’s been getting a little bored with solely the Jovians. From what she tells me, she hops on over to Ceres on a regular basis, takes a jaunt into the Cronian network whenever she can get the signal strength. She even dips into the Martian corner of the Survey from time to time.”

  Ward tried not to look too pleased. It was good to know she was already in the habit of venturing into such well-encrypted databases. He had to be careful, though, for he dared not divulge what he needed of her without covering all the bases first.

  “Isn’t that risky for her?”

  Houte chuckled. “When has that ever stopped her? Their crypto and anti-intrusion might be light-years ahead of the local network, but they still can’t keep her out all the time.”

  Houte sounded like a proud brother as he said this. Ward hoped Houte’s faith in his sister’s abilities would survive what he was about to ask.

  “Has she ever hacked into anything particularly secure?”

  Houte eyed him with a measure of suspicion. “Is that what you’re asking of her? To poke around in the files of someone important?”

  “Not exactly.” Houte drew himself up, crossing his arms defensively. Ward realized he was out of time, so he began explaining. “I’m asking her to poke around in the Survey and find out whatever she can, concerning someone important.”

  Houte’s head cocked to the side. “Who?”

  “A Formist, one who goes by the name of Doctor David Lee.”

  “This is the guy you’ve been paid to find?”

  “Yes,” Ward said with a nod. “I’m getting the distinct impression there’s more to him than my employers are letting on. There’s also his colleague, a woman named Doctor Janis Amaru. She’s central to this investigation, and I’m betting there’s more to her too.”

  “Who is she?”

  “A planetary biologist, someone who was consulting with Lee and his people. She’s to be my liaison in this investigation, and I need to know if I can trust her before I put myself in her hands.”

  “So, no intrusion into the Formist’s databanks, then?”

  “Not unless Constance thinks she can get away with it.” Ward smiled. “Besides, I get the feeling anything helpful to me won’t be in the files.”

  Houte shook his head, no doubt performing a bit of a risk assessment. Given the money Ward was promising, and the chunk already paid up front, it didn’t sound like too much of a risk. Besides, Ward knew everything Houte squirrelled away went into looking after Constance. In the end, the payoff would benefit her far more than him.

  “Is that it, though? We aren’t going to get any last-minute additions when you’re out there, looking for this man, are we?”

  “Perhaps one other thing,” Ward said, coyly. “There’s this man, one who Emile assigned to watch my back. He’ll be monitoring the situation from a distance the moment we get to Titan. I’m pretty sure he’s ex-military, possibly even covert ops.”

  Houte drew back a little. “And this is the man you got watching your back? What are they expecting to happen to you?”

  Ward shrugged. “If that surprises you, you should have seen the loadout. It looked like they were getting ready for war.”

  Houte raised a reproving finger. “All this to find this one man? What the hell have you got yourself into here?”

  Ward laughed. The number of times had he asked himself that! And now Houte asking him the same question? For Ward, the fact there was simply no preferable alternative had kept him from reconsidering the job. In Houte’s case, money to care for Constance was his only reason to get involved.

  Ward regarded Constance, reclined peacefully in her chair, gazing upwards towards the ceiling, and beyond into the vast architectures of information and connectivity only she could see. Houte placed his hand gently on her head. Constance failed to react to her brother’s touch. No doubt she had been aware of their presence for quite some time, but saw no need to interact with them.

  “Do you want to say something to her?” Houte asked. Ward leaned towards her, tried to meet her gaze. It was always impossible to tell if she was making eye contact.

  “Hello, Constance. It’s been awhile. Do you remember me?”

  Her mouth shot open, a quick slew of words shot forth like rounds from a gun. Her tone was pointed and cold, every word delivered with military-style precision.

  “Hermian, adjective. Terrestrial planet. Semi-major axis of 0.0387
astronomical units. Average orbital velocity 47.362 kilometers per second. Surface temperature, one hundred Kelvin night side, seven hundred Kelvin day side. Synodic period, 115.88 days. Travel restrictions mandatory, all surface activity confined to night side per Hermian directive number 231/227. Personal testimonies rare and sought after.”

  Ward drew back from the verbal assault, flinging a worried look at Houte, who was laughing quietly.

  “I think that’s her way of asking how Mercury was,” he said. “Don’t suppose you might give her an answer she would understand?”

  Ward leaned back in, looking deep into Constance’s distant eyes. He still didn’t see a spark of recognition there, or any indication she was looking back. But she obviously knew he was there, where he had been, and was attempting to manage some form of conversation.

  “It was hot,” Ward said. “And cold. And really quite unpleasant.”

  Her eyes darted left and right. Her face acquired something of a frown.

  “That’s it?” Houte demanded. “She’s asking for information. Are you going to leave her with just that?”

  Ward understood Houte’s anger. To Constance, information was the only thing which made sense anymore. Being stingy with it was tantamount to being cruel or withholding. He took a deep breath and tried to think of other things he felt comfortable sharing.

  It was not an easy task.

  “It’s a very dangerous place. The elements are hard, but the people are harder. And I would never, under any circumstances, recommend going there.”

  Seventeen

  The first few minutes of the journey were spent in relative darkness as the train departed from Tholin Station, passing through the outer edges of the Vanaheim Ring until they cleared the dome’s outer wall, whereupon everything became much brighter. The walls of the transit tube became clear, and the light of the Jovian system was admitted.

  Ward looked out the side window and marveled at the landscape. Keeping his gaze steady and true, he saw clear to the horizon. In the indeterminate distance, a black sky met a sparkling landscape that looked like diamonds scattered in a steppe of mottled dirt. Turing his gaze skyward, Ward made out the disc of the Sun hanging far off in the distance. Despite its glare, he saw barely enough of the other points of light to make out some of the Inner Worlds.