Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

‘How much?’ interjected Ratha sharply.

  ‘How much what?’ asked Nara.

  ‘Delay, Nara. How long will it take?’

  ‘Assuming what ROOT says is true,’ continued Nara patiently, ‘possibly a couple of cycles. I’ll come back to that if I may?’ She looked up at Abbot, seeking his approval to continue, which he granted with a wave of his pen.

  ‘What are you proposing?’ asked Ratha, in a firm but not wholly unreasonable tone.

  ‘That we complete the GVX Ayon Research vehicle with a view to sending it to intercept HEX. At the very least, we can use the initial field expedition to get GVX positioned, pending further information from CID.’

  Although all the Council members could have predicted Nara’s proposal, they all sat in silence while the observers behind them shuffled uncomfortably. Unusually, given her limited symbolic role, it was the Matriarch who eventually spoke.

  ‘How far off is the completion of the vehicle, Councillor?’ she asked.

  ‘John Orchard, GVX’s designer, is with us here. I would invite him to answer that question,’ said Nara.

  ‘Objection,’ interrupted Urasa.

  Selwyn Abbot, who was only just able to restrain himself from rolling his eyes, asked Urasa tersely on what basis he objected.

  ‘It is not normal practice for non-co-opted members of this committee to speak in meetings. We would be setting a precedent, the implications of which should be considered first, preferably separately.’

  ‘Victor,’ began Ratha in a considered matter-of-fact tone. ‘We have the man who can answer the Matriarch’s question, which is relevant, sitting here. Would it not be in the Council’s best interest to hear his view?’

  ‘I maintain my objection,’ Urasa asserted, and sat back, signalling this was his final word on the matter.

  ‘Very well,’ said Abbot reluctantly. ‘I suppose I must uphold your objection.’

  Nara Falla, who eyed Urasa closely, was surprised not to see any hint of satisfaction in him. Looking blankly at the agenda in front of him, he merely sniffed. Looking at the faces around the table, she got the faintest impression that it was Ratha who felt she had won the point. Did she detect the faintest spark of complicity between Urasa and Ratha? She couldn’t be sure but filed away a mental note.

  Looking back to Abbot, she found him looking at her expectantly and cleared her throat to continue.

  ‘Given the urgency, we feel we can have the GVX project up and running within ten full shifts, half a cycle at the outside. It won’t be fully fitted out, but all the major components and systems have been rigorously tested in isolation so there is no reason to expect problems.’

  ‘Nara, do you seriously believe that?’ said an incredulous Ratha. ‘When has that ever, ever been the case? In the whole history of Hellinar and Ayon Research no vehicle, however well tested, has ever completed its shakedown problem-free.’

  Nara, knowing this was true, could only stare at Ratha, waiting for her to continue.

  Ratha bristled, then seemed to relent. ‘Look, I understand your concern. I think ROOT’s conviction that HEX has been taken into Ayon is utter nonsense, but I accept the risk factor you allude to. We are at a point where we are trying to get Aya built, we need resources there and we are down one IDC. Now is hardly the time to throw an untested vehicle out into the wilderness, risking its possible loss and adding further distraction to an already complicated situation. Can this ‘GVX’,’ she said with a hint of derision, ‘actually catch HEX in any case? You said it could take more than a cycle?’

  This gave Nara a way back in. ‘Yes, we are sure that it can, despite the delay in sending it out.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Ratha threw back at her across the table.

  ‘Basic calculation – a little assumption, that’s true, but with some margin given.’

  Ratha shook her head, indicating what a sad situation this was. ‘Nara, the furthermost outpost we have in Ayon is what? Nastra?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And we don’t know much about what’s beyond that.’ This was put as a statement and followed up before Nara could contest it. ‘Okay, you have some idea what’s out there, but your knowledge is pretty limited, isn’t it?’

  Nara closed her mouth, and didn’t dispute the point.

  ‘Nara, look. I’ll go along with this, but on the condition that it takes up as few resources as possible. That means minimal crew and minimal expenditure. Afterwards, I expect SVA to prioritise sorting out our fleet of Hellinar exploration vehicles, which are in dire need of attention. Aya might be the future, but you still need a power source and that comes from the thermal towers in the desert.’

  Nara nodded her acceptance to these terms, which Ratha acknowledged with a curt reply. ‘I’ll send over our quartermaster then.’

  Abbot cleared his throat, bringing the meeting to formal order.

  ‘The motion I propose is this,’ he pronounced. ‘That the GVX Ayon exploration vehicle be completed with all haste and sent out in speculative preparation to retrieve the Intercessor HEX, should the need arise. Those in agreement, please place a palm on the table.’

  All, with the notable exception of Urasa, reached forward, placing a hand palm down on the table in front of them.

  ‘It’s agreed then,’ concluded Abbot. ‘Any other questions before we end?’

  Kyle Devin, who had sat in silence throughout the exchange, now spoke. ‘Who are you proposing to lead this undertaking?’

  Nara, looking faintly uncomfortable, spoke up. ‘Undecided at this point. I’ve asked that Katherine Kane personally oversee the commissioning. As some of you know, one of the goals of the GVX project is to assess the integration of an Intercessor into a physical technology. I don’t need to tell you that there are far-reaching implications depending on the outcome. I have asked Katherine to ensure the integration is a part of the commissioning as intended. Once the commissioning is complete, ROOT will be returned to the Vault.’

  An uncomfortable silence fell across the room. When it was broken, the protest came from a wholly unexpected corner: Erin James.

  ‘You’re joking? You’re going to install ROOT? He’s vital to the construction of Aya. What happens if he’s damaged? This is madness,’ she said.

  Momentarily thrown off guard, Nara nonetheless recovered. ‘He’s insisted it’s safe. He defined the interface himself. As I said, once the commissioning is complete, we will remove him. It should be straightforward and will provide us with vital information that could determine the direction we take with Aya. With the architect of the city’s infrastructure stolen, that is surely now more important than ever.’

  James, who was normally the epitome of reserve, looked openly astonished. ‘This wasn’t stated before we voted. We need a revote.’

  Selwyn Abbot shuffled himself forward uncomfortably. ‘We voted on the motion as put forward. There will be no revote.’

  ‘Fine,’ said James, with uncharacteristic petulance. ‘But for the record, I’d like to make it clear that I disagree with risking our sole remaining Intercessor at the cost of the future of our people.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ agreed Abbot, in a tone that implied even he thought this was an overstatement. After a pause, he went consecutively around the table. No further points were forthcoming and an air of sullen acceptance descended over the gathering.

  ‘Then the meeting is adjourned,’ he declared, rising and propping his pen behind his right ear as he did so.

  The gathering broke up, the alcove emptied and voices that had been loud and clear faded into the expanse of the larger chamber. Nara, absently gathering her things, was the last of the councillors to leave the table. As she turned, she found the lanky form of John Orchard waiting for her.

  ‘Nara,’ he said, with evident concern in his voice. ‘What was all that with Urasa? Why couldn’t I speak?’

  Nara shook her head in resignation. ‘Politics, John, politics.’ She looked into his questioning gaze. ‘I have a f
eeling it’s going to get a lot worse.’ The two of them turned and made their way out into the sun-streaked air of the main chamber.

  013: Interrogation

  Gygath Slum, West of Skala City

  When he finally woke, JT felt significantly more comfortable. The man who had revived him, a man he now knew as Ira, had returned to pick him off the dirt and prop him in a sitting position against a timber support. After a brief introduction, Ira left and returned with a bowl of surprisingly clean water. Carefully, he stripped JT to the waist and washed him down. The quartermaster had no energy to protest or feel uncomfortable. In fact, he was grateful for the aid. A bed made up from two flat-pack crates and a dirty mattress had been brought and he pulled himself on to it, lying sleepless for a time unmeasured.

  Intermittently, herb flatbread and water were brought to him by a guard. After four meals, always the same, JT sat up to look at Ira, who after a shift or more of absence had returned to watch him intently from the shadows. Although a thousand questions ran through his mind he first asked the one that perplexed him the most.

  ‘You said you know who I am?’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Ira in his soft, gruff voice.

  ‘How?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said JT wearily.

  ‘No one is born in the slums, Mr Gilbert,’ said Ira, as if this were obvious. ‘Your name is Jonathan Timothy Gilbert, you’re a quartermaster working in the Hellinar Research Facility. You’re known to be clear-headed, reliable and diligent, if a little over-obsessive when it comes to detail. You’re unmarried and your sexuality has been the subject of on-and-off speculation in your office for as long as you’ve worked there. General consensus is you just never met the right girl.’

  JT glared at Ira but the man merely shrugged and continued. ‘You have a talent for origami and hot-plate cooking. On occasion, but only under peer pressure, you step in to take the place of the chef in your preferred eatery to select and cook meals for your companions, much to their pleasure. How am I doing so far?’

  JT nodded, feeling shaken by the detail.

  ‘Good. Beyond that, you walk a lot.’ Ira scratched thoughtfully at his stubble. ‘Well, most people do I suppose. You’re trusted, have good security access and you maintain a distant but officially condoned relationship with the Rika. Oh, your apartment is decorated in a minimalist style which would work better if you tidied it occasionally. Just my opinion.’ He shrugged.

  JT sat back in astonishment at this last statement, which Ira had delivered as just another titbit. ‘How do you know all this?’ he asked, horrified.

  ‘Like I said, no one is born in the slums.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means exactly what it says. Did you see any children here when you ambled in?’

  ‘No, but I didn’t see much of anyone.’

  ‘There is a lot of general misconception about the slums, even for people like you who have actually been here before.’ Ira eyed JT, assessing his reaction. Detecting a pang of shame, he continued more cautiously. ‘No one is born here. Everyone comes in from outside. The men, normally at the lower end of the social scale, come early, once it’s established they, or should I say we, can’t produce children. As the women get longer to prove their fertility, they come older and there are far fewer of them. Obviously.’

  Reluctantly, JT took his point.

  ‘So the people here are from all walks of life,’ Ira continued. ‘Yes we’ve got criminals, prostitutes and opium dealers, which is what everyone on the outside expects. But there are plenty of us with backgrounds like yours. Factory or office workers moved aside in deference to cheaper, younger models. They find it hard to get another job and, without kids, there are no Council subsidies and not much of a future. We even have one or two ex-business moguls who’ve gone bust and have nowhere else to go. They fall the hardest.’

  Ira took a deep breath and decided he owed JT a more direct answer to his question. ‘There are plenty of people here with families or friends out in the city. They don’t come here so much, but family is family and some people keep close ties to the city. We get to know things, sometimes we ask some questions.’

  JT thought for a moment then asked, ‘So, what’s your background?’

  ‘Me?’ Ira responded with a short, rough laugh. ‘Let’s just say I’m a failed poet and leave it at that.’

  Unsure whether to take this literally, JT decided not to pursue it. ‘So, what are you going to do with me?’

  ‘You’ll be on your way soon. There are some folks who would like to talk to you first though. We’re to wait until called, then you get an audience.’

  ‘An audience with who?’

  Ira considered how to answer this but, shrugging, only said, ‘Interested parties, just some interested parties is all.’ The finality with which this was said told JT he was not going to learn more for now. Stretching back, he reclined onto the bed, placing his hands behind his head. He folded one leg cautiously over the other, closed his eyes and waited.

  It was about a rotation later that the call came. A hollow rap on the tin door prompted Ira to move languidly from his observations and wait for a bolt to be drawn noisily back. JT stood, something he had done little in nearly two full shifts. Finding his balance, he followed Ira through the doorway and out into a darker, narrow corridor.

  The close proximity of the shacks that lined each makeshift street of the slums meant that many were interlinked. There were no tall buildings to provide shadows in which to hide from the cancer-inducing sunlight, so moving directly from hut to hut was practically a necessity.

  Led through a rabbit warren of homes, makeshift shops and what, to JT’s horror, could only be a very active brothel, they arrived at their destination. Entering through a door on which ‘Landlord’s Arms’ had been sign-written with astonishing skill, they found themselves in a large, heavily populated communal room. Long benches were arranged in semicircular fashion around an exquisitely carved dark wood bar. Glasses, tankards and pipes were hung from above with bottles of spirits, mostly gin, nestled among a multitude of beer pumps mounted on the surface.

  Two things about this place instantly struck JT. The first, obvious at the moment of entry, was the temperature. It was cooler in here, not at all like the hot, sticky climate of the shacks he had been led through. But it was the scene that hit him hardest, an overwhelming feeling of community and goodwill permeating the air. Laughter was rife as glasses clinked and the sweet, floral smell of opium smoke billowed up into the conical roof space. Somehow it felt much more intense, much more genuine than the soulless wine bars of Central Skala.

  The guide left them at the door and JT looked around in wonderment as Ira led him to the centre of the room. Despite his condition, no one paid him any heed, for which he was grateful. Behind the bar stood a hulking, swarthy fellow resplendent in a simple, dirty V-necked shirt that might have once been white. Around his neck hung swaths of long necklaces in a flamboyant show of platinum links. He scowled, a furrowed brow of sun-bleached skin rippling his shaved head. His forearms tensed as he lifted clenched fists, revealing yet more links arranged in tight-fitting bracelets around his wrists. He brought them down with a firm thud on the wooden surface, making nearby bottles jump in alarm.

  ‘What will it be, bitches?’ he growled with ill-concealed hostility.

  ‘The usual, thanks, Landlord, two of,’ said Ira, totally unconcerned.

  The big man turned and emptied half a bottle of clear liquid into two tall, chipped glasses. He slammed them on the bar, with enough firmness to make a point. Turning to JT he sniffed, as if measuring him by smell alone.

  ‘You must be Gilbert,’ he said, eyes narrowed.

  Before JT could answer, Ira replied in a distinctly suspicious tone, ‘How did you know? Seen him before, have you?’

  ‘The blood, Ira, it’s all over ‘is clothes.’ As the big man leaned in, Ira neither flinched nor made
eye contact. ‘I ‘eard you lot did him over. Shouldn’t have done that. Find out who the bastard is before you deck ‘im. I’ve bloody told you before, but will you listen?’

  Pulling back, the big man picked up the glass nearest JT and handed it to him. ‘‘Ere, drink this. You call me Landlord, okay? Anything else you need – pipes, women, whatever – you just ask. I’ll add it to this bastard’s tab.’

  JT raised the glass to his lips and nearly choked as the fiery liquid touched his throat. A huge hand slapped appreciatively down on his left shoulder. Coughing, he managed a weak-sounding, ‘Thank you, Landlord. I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘Make sure you do,’ barked the Landlord with humour. ‘Now, there are some people you need to see, just behind us. Ira, can you manage that without hurting anyone else?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ intoned Ira sarcastically.

  The Landlord stood back and folded his arms, his huge chest puffed out as he watched the two men move around the bar to a corrugated door in the rear wall.

  ‘Best not drink too much of that stuff,’ said Ira under his breath. ‘It’s good, don’t get me wrong, but you’ll want a clear head for the next rotation.’

  JT, who was not much of a drinker, was relieved to hand his glass over. Ira cocked it in appreciation before downing its contents in a single swig.

  *

  Behind the door lay a small, dark room of the same round profile, a low, rectangular table at its centre. The air was cool and carried an aroma of incense, replacing that of the opium. Instead of earthy dust, the floor was covered in rugs woven in dark reds, yellows and blacks. Behind the table sat a group of three: one male, two female, all evenly spaced. Like Ira, their clothes were well worn but differed little from what a normal resident of Skala might wear.

  Ira gestured for JT to be seated on the floor in front of the group. Sensing his discomfort, one of the women, white haired and apparently the elder of the group, moved to kneel. The other, younger woman, stood up and with a sweep of her hand indicated JT could sit as he felt comfortable. All regarded him closely but with no hint of malice or aggression.