by Jaine Fenn
Cusa glanced down at her son then drew on her cigrene. ‘I tried. I called the monitors and contacted our local deacon; I even spoke to a presbyter. Each and everyone referred me to the death certificate, which stated that Khea had gone to the All-Father due to natural causes on the night she went missing.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘I imagine they thought me unhinged by grief.’
‘How about using your skills to uncover the truth? Hospital records and such.’
‘My skills?’
‘With data.’ Bez put her cigrene in the tray, deciding Cusa was unlikely to notice.
‘No. I feared that, whatever fate had overtaken my wife, I could be next. Because we are a spiritual, moral people who live easy and comfortable lives, we believe all is well with our world. Provided we behave according to the Lord’s tenets and the laws of the land, our system will treat us fairly. Or so I thought. Now I know different. I have seen the darkness beneath.’
Bez thought of the first time they met, and what Cusa had said about the gun: Thou would be shocked to know how I gained possession ofi t. ‘Even if you don’t know what happened to Khea surely you must have … suspicions.’
‘Aye, sister. I do.’
Bez forced herself to wait for Cusa to tell her in her own time.
The other woman shifted in her seat, taking a last draw on her cigrene before stubbing it out. ‘The ministry where Khea worked is a large and complex place. In its higher offices there are perhaps a dozen people who exercise enough authority, if they are careful, to insert a death certificate and remove other records. Of those, only one is also in a position to re-activate inactive personnel records: a man called Tren Valdt.’
‘So he’s the one who’s creating the false IDs?’ Part of Bez wanted to know why Cusa couldn’t have just told her this straight off, but it was a part she found herself obscurely ashamed of. She resisted the urge to immediately search on the name.
‘So Khea believed. I warned her against acting on her suspicions, but she was holding to a promise - one made to thee - and she meant to keep her word.’
Cusa might blame her for Khea’s death. And she still had that gun. But the other woman appeared composed, almost resigned.
‘Was Khea investigating this Tren Valdt when she disappeared?’
Cusa gave a weary smile. ‘I do not know: although we had no secrets, she spared me some details. Those we love we shelter from the world.’ Cusa reached inside her robe again, her hand brushing her baby lightly as she did so. This time she withdrew a dataspike, which she pushed across the table. ‘All that she had gleaned on Administrator Valdt is here. Not much, but I give it freely, to use as thou may desire.’
Bez took the ‘spike, glancing around even though no one was paying them any attention. ‘Thank you. Will you…’ She tried again, not sure how to put it. ‘Is this Administrator Valdt the reason you got the gun?’
‘I acquired it for the sake of my child. Thou art not a mother.’
Bez realised it was a question. ‘No, I’m not.’
Cusa said, ‘My mourning leave ends this week. Then I must return to work - in the same building as that man. I need a job to fund my son’s future in a creche.’
‘That’s normal here, isn’t it? Being brought up in a creche, I mean.’ Bez was uncomfortable with the thought that the small being that seemed almost part of this woman would soon be taken from her.
‘Aye, once a child reaches the age of eight. But it is different if there are not two parents to share the care. I have applied for visiting rights to Gion’s creche, but whether I get them…’ She shivered. ‘If Administrator Valdt seeks to punish me further by blocking my application, then the weapon I whored myself for is likely to see some use.’
Bez was suffering the weirdest feeling, something she could not immediately identify. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that,’ she said.
“Tis in the AII-Father’s hands. I will leave thee now, sister.’ She got up, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant. ‘I doubt we shall meet again.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bez, ‘and good luck.’
It was only after Cusa had gone that Bez put a name to the unusual emotion: empathy.
She sat perfectly still, letting unaccustomed feelings wash through her. Then she stood up and walked out of the bar. She commed reception and asked to book a room. They were understandably confused, given there was already a suite reserved in her husband’s name, but she insisted. She took the cheapest option, initially just for one night.
Once in her room, she rummaged in her bag for the slate she had purchased on the starliner, and slotted the ‘spike.
Cusa was right: the info was sparse. She had the man’s home address and basic personal details, plus a lot of supposition; enough to make him worth following up. Her best bet would be to check out his home. This time she would be more careful. She would make sure her target really was at work, and not assume that, just because the locals didn’t maintain a virtuality, their systems were primitive.
A com call interrupted her. She was dismayed, if unsurprised, when she saw who it was. ‘Yes?’ she snapped.
‘I just wanted to check everything is all right.’ Sirrah Tierce sounded genuinely concerned.
‘Everything’s fine.’ Like it’s any of your business.
‘Could we maybe continue our discussion now?’
Bez wanted to say there was nothing to discuss, but patently he was not going to leave her alone. ‘All right.’
‘I’m still in the bar, if you-‘
‘Com’s fine.’ She had had too many face-to-face conversations recently.
‘Fair enough. With video, perhaps?’
She patched the call through to her slate; she didn’t want him in her visual cortex.
‘That’s better,’ he said, then frowned. ‘Hey, that looks like a hotel room-‘
‘It is. So, what did you want to say?’
‘Firstly, I wanted to apologise.’
‘A pologise? ‘
‘Yes. I’ve obviously discomforted you by turning up like this.
That was not my intention.’
‘And what was your intention? Because you have, by your own admission, gone to a lot of trouble to find me.’
‘I want to let you know that I’m - we’re - here for you. To help.’
‘I don’t need your help.’
‘I beg to differ. You do. You just don’t know it.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. There’s no easy way to say this but … we already are helping you, whether you like it or not.’
‘In what way?’
‘Covering up your mistakes, for a start.’
‘I don’t make mistakes.’
‘You’re arrogant, which I can understand, but perhaps you should ask yourself whether it is truly feasible in the interconnected universe we live in for one person to constantly get away with the sort of heists you keep pulling?’
‘Heists?’
‘Thefts. Of data. Credit. Identities. That sort of thing.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Please don’t fuck about. It wastes both our time.’ He looked pained. ‘All right: an example. You and I might not be having this conversation now were it not for a perfectly timed com call to First Detective Hylam on Tarset station a few weeks back.’
Bez actually felt her jaw drop. She snapped it shut. She had thought the distraction that had let her walk free on Tarset was convenient. It had not occurred to her it could have been contrived.
‘Wait, you … how in the void’s name could you be responsible for that?’
‘How is not relevant. The result is. We’re looking out for you.’
This was not something she could run from. This was something that had been shadowing her, unseen but constant, possibly for years.
Tierce appeared to take her silence as acquiescence. He said, ‘So, given we’re on the same side, do you have any leads?’
‘Leads?’
‘Yes, that urgent com call you took; was it relevant to your investigations here?’
‘My … investigations? Y-No. I mean. I need to think about this, Sirrah Tierce. About what you’ve said.’
‘You’ve got my number. Just call.’
After he hung up, Bez did some calming calculations. Then she tried to grasp the enormity of what her alleged ally had said. The worst of it was, his claims made sense. There had been occasions in the past when events had appeared to conspire in her favour, or useful data had become available at just the right time. She had dismissed them as happenstance but Imbarin Tierce might be exactly what he said: the representative of an organisation whose aims paralleled hers. Even if he was, that didn’t mean she should automatically trust him.
While her unconscious tried to assimilate this shift to her worldview, she went back to the task in hand.
Her research into the apartment where Administrator Valdt lived soon revealed a problem: Valdt was an unmarried man, living in a building of unmarried men. The physical set-up of the block was similar to Cusa and Khea’s place, with a semi-public atrium. If she could get through the main entrance, she could hack the lock to Valdt’s place. Perhaps she could fool the building sec from the surface door, or maybe hack her comshades temporarily to ID her as male. But that was risky, and she might still need to provide the system with a reason for visiting. There were no apartments for rent in this block. How about deliveries? Graceni ordered most of their supplies via the comnet, so provisions companies brought food and suchlike all the time.
There was something about deliveries, something she had seen in Valdt’s file … She checked again. One of his hobbies was sand-yacht racing, and he sometimes had components sent to his home; there was a standing order in place allowing certain companies to leave deliveries in the lobby of his apartment. She could use that.
She looked up the companies referred to. She would like to get hold of one of their courier uniforms, though as with everything else here, it came down to the symbols and insignia on your robes, which should make it relatively easy to fake.
That just left fooling the lock with her gender. Tricky, for even if she spoofed her shades, she could not be sure what track backs were in place: a female tourist visiting women’s accommodation was unlikely to get flagged up; a tourist whose gender had apparently changed probably was.
She needed a man’s comshades. Or a man.
Bez briefly entertained the paranoid possibility that Imbarin Tierce had somehow known she would need his help and turned up at the right moment.
Tierce obviously had considerable resources. Even if his aims only temporarily coincided with hers, she could use him to get what she wanted, then disappear - or try to. The thought that there was an organisation out there that knew what she was up to left a cold hollow in the pit of her stomach. But she was not going to let that knowledge derail her plans.
She commed him. ‘Before we go any further,’ she said as soon as he picked up, ‘I need you to answer a question for me.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Let’s assume for the sake of argument that I believe you. Let’s say your people have been present in the background all the time, even though I’ve never come across any sign of them. Furthermore, let’s say they’ve been helping me out behind the scenes.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘If that’s the case, then you - your organisation - has a void-eating amount of power. Why in the name of deep entropy do you need me?’
‘Two reasons. Firstly, we value your talents, your considerable talents, which lie in subtly different areas from ours. Secondly, our power is localised and quite specific. Limited, even. You, however, see the bigger picture. You treat all of human-space as your domain. You go wherever you need to, and do whatever you have to, all in the cause of destroying the evil that is perverting human destiny. You’re our greatest asset.’
‘Let’s just get one thing straight here,’ she said slowly. ‘I am not your, or anyone’s, asset. I’m a free agent, and if that means we’re on the same side for the moment, then so be it.’
‘So you’re willing to let me help you?’
She paused, then said, ‘For now, yes.’
TROPHY PIECE
Some things we believe about the Sidhe do appear to be true. For example, I’ve found no evidence of any of the powerful Sidhe males anywhere in human-space. It’s logical to conclude that the received wisdom may be correct in this case: the true male Sidhe are all long dead.
As Bez followed Tierce up the path, she wondered when she had started taking such risks. With every step closer to V aldt’ s apartment complex, her breathing got shallower and faster. Such drastic action, taken so impulsively. Not her style at all.
Tierce had initially suggested she need not accompany him to Administrator Valdt’s home, but Bez insisted she would. This was her mission, and he was only involved because she had decided to let him assist her.
Getting hold of male robes had been straightforward: the hotel had its own laundry, and entrances to the service areas were protected by nothing more than warning signs. Tierce had sneaked in and brought back a selection of disguises. She chose clothing that marked her - or rather him - as a male oflow rank. In the privacy of her room, she lightened her skin and hair until it was close to local norms, and scraped her hair back so that, with her hood up, she could pass at a glance for a boy.
If Tierce had been surprised at her radical change of appearance when she turned up at his suite, he didn’t say anything.
She had no idea how Tierce got hold of a set of comshades that were - so he claimed - the property of a reputable courier company. He had simply used the word ‘borrowed’, smiling as he said it.
They approached the door to the complex’s lobby with Bez a pace behind Tierce, jointly carrying a package fabricated from the central spine of the clothes stand from his bedroom, dismantled and rewrapped in plasticised sheeting. It was long and bulky, but if they were posing as a pair of couriers, they needed to be carrying something that required two people. Getting the package out of the hotel had involved going through the service areas, an experience that put her on edge even before they left the building. She had relaxed slightly when Tierce paid for the cab: ifhe was willing to take risks on her behalf, far be it for her to argue, although such behaviour was at odds with his assertion that his people were as careful as she was. Perhaps he had backup, maybe even a databreaker running interference in the infoscape.
They stopped outside the door and Tierce used the courier’s comshades to request entry. After what felt like several seconds, a synthesised male voice asked politely, ‘Kindly state thy reasons for visiting this address.’
Bez had dealt with a similar security interface when she visited Cusa. ‘A delivery for Sirrah Tren Valdt,’ said Tierce, sounding bored.
‘Sirrah Valdt has not given notice of any deliveries today.’
Tierce, apparently unconcerned, said, “Tis from Sand Aero.
The mast-strut he had on back-order; he did not expect it yet.’ He pointed with his free hand to the end of the package under his arm, for the benefit of whatever surveillance might be trained on them.
Building security systems varied massively both in their paranoia and intellectual capacity. A similar set-up on a hub might well ask for the second person’s ID at this point, in which case they would have to abort. The voice said, ‘Sirrah Valdt has previously notified this system of deliveries from that company. Ye may enter, as per his standing instructions.’ The door opened.
Bez smiled in gratitude at the trusting nature of God-fearing societies.
Inside, the building was marked as male territory by the preva-lence of straight lines over curves, and the colour scheme, which was russet highlighted in dark brown and black.
Getting the package into the elevator proved mildly challenging. En route to Valdt’s floor, the lift stopped. The elderly man who got in looke
d askance at Bez, who had kept her hood up even though they were indoors. Then his gaze fell on the wrapped package propped up across the back of the elevator. ‘What is that, brother?’ he asked.
“Tis a weigh bar for, ah…’ - Tierce made a show of blinking into his com shades - ‘Sirrah Sriden.’ Despite herself, Bez was impressed at Tierce’s ability to mimic local speech patterns and effortlessly deploy disinformation.
‘Hah,’ said the older man. ‘Why will the man not use the house gymnasium like the rest of those body-sculpt boys!’ Then he looked at Tierce more closely. ‘Art thou unwell, brother? Thy skin is dark as a hell bound sinner’s.’
‘I have been ill,’ said Tierce, his tone full of embarrassment.
‘Huh,’ said the man, apparently satisfied, or possibly repelled.
The man got off at the next floor. She and Tierce carried on to the bottom level, where the most expensive apartments were.
The square atrium featured a small park and the gymnasium the man in the lift had referred to. Bez was relieved to see only one person working out, too distant and too stoked on endorphins to pay them any attention.
The outer door to Valdt’s apartment had no lock: in a luxury block like this, apartments needed lobbies to facilitate the many collections and deliveries that kept the residents’ lives effortlessly opulent. Valdt’s lobby contained a bag of dirty washing and several items that probably really were destined for his sand-yacht. Bez and Tierce propped their package up against one wall and went over to the door to the apartment proper.
‘Did you want to do the honours?’ he asked.
By way of an answer, Bez blinked her head ware fully online.
Her intrusion suite was set to go, and the lock looked as simple as the last one she had cracked, but given she had failed to spot Cusa’s ID-harvesting retrohack, she took the job slowly.
Finally the door gave a barely audible click.
‘I’m assuming you would have told me if there was any additional security.’
Tierce’s voice, right by her ear, made Bez jump.
‘Of course!’ she retorted in a harsh whisper. ‘But feel free to go in first anyway.’
