I stifled a chortle and waited for the real problem to be revealed. An uncountable number of nanoseconds crawled by and I realized that this wasn’t a joke. I opened my mouth to provide rational objections about trying to steal the most closely guarded item in the systems and the likely impact such an attempt would have on social relations, only to have them turn to dust in my mouth.
As I regarded these two insane creatures, I grasped that they had a full understanding of what I was about to say, and that they were the precise reasons to make the attempt. The Shoshone Circlet was wrapped up in so much history and extended meaning that a serious attempt to steal it by a bottle-born lifeform would be the contemporary equivalent of the Empress Ingea splitting the leader of the Wrexen Federation into two with an axe. The difference: it would be an entirely subterranean war.
Surface appearances would remain the same. The perpetrator would be subject to unbiased justice. Below ground, hatred, fear, shame and lust would burn fiercely; the hidden cost would be paid daily by everyone. The winners would be those who used the conflict to draw the populations into their orbit as the only reliable protection from the other. It was brilliant.
“How?” I finally asked.
“Mr. Hennessey, I believe you owe me for our wager.” With a smug smile, she turned from him to me. “Mr. Hennessey thought you’d mouth objections and require persuasion about how serious we are. I always knew you were much smarter than that. No worm sent here would have been that guileless. Now you’ve deprived Mr. Hennessey of something he’d been looking forward to … and he tends to become upset things about that.”
The smug smile evolved into a cheery one. “We’re leaving the ‘how’ to you. I’m sure you know the rule. You can own the result or the process, but we own the result.”
Silence followed. Because no one was speaking or because my hearing had shut down in response to the overload in my mind wasn’t clear.
After several seconds of eyeing one another, Zusak Sedge spoke. “Off you go. You don’t have long, so I suggest you get started right away. It would probably be a good idea to involve that blue-fish friend of yours; she has skills you could use.”
As I rose from my chair, Mr. Hennessey smiled for the first time. I was being told that no matter the outcome, he and I would have another meeting, a private one that would be held on his terms. I made it out of the room and building without falling. Standing outside the campaign HQ, I tapped a contact request to Lincoln, asking her to meet me at the Losers Lounge and to send a guide. I received one that would allow me to navigate through the Old City for that single journey only. A step off the path and the guide would cease, and I’d be lost.
When I entered the Losers Lounge, I saw Lincoln wave. She was sitting at the same table we’d used before, which seemed fitting since I was bringing bad news again. At least the food and drink (not to mention the view) would be good.
Nanteer greeted me as I sat down, put a big mug of Top Drawer on the table, and went off without waiting for a food order.
“I’ve ordered for both of us. Food first. Then tell me about the trouble we’re in.”
That casual “we” was, in spite of severe competition from food and drink, the single best thing about the whole day. Once the food was gone and plates cleared, Lincoln looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Zusak Sedge has given me a job,” I said nonchalantly.
“Zusak Sedge?”
I had an awakening, a moment when you find that you are in the same place but the meaning of everything around you has irrevocably changed because you were asleep and now you are awake to reality. I hadn’t been concerned that Lincoln didn’t know what a Brewmaster was or much about bottle-farm operations. She came from a different process and there was no reason for her to want to know about farms. Zusak Sedge was a different matter, however, because she was centre-square in the world that Lincoln moved in, she should be semi-public knowledge to lifeforms who travelled the dark corridors of the systems. Only now it was clear that Zusak Sedge was highly-specialized knowledge, only known to those who actively sought out said highly-specialized knowledge. It was deliberate knowledge, found in much less crowded locations where those who visited weren’t lost in the multitude.
The visitors came individually and, no matter how well-disguised, could be identified and tracked by watchers with the resources to track visitors to unfrequented areas. Watchers like the PR Agency. They’d not picked me at random for this task like I’d imagined; they knew exactly where I’d been, that I’d know who Zusak Sedge was and be delicious bait for her. There were others with even more resources than the PR Agency and they’d also simply watch and wait, but they wouldn’t have to find me because I’d simply walk into view. All the time I believed I was hidden, I was under a spotlight. All the time I thought I was hiding in darkness and protecting those I love I was walking a stage under a spotlight. It was the audience who were cloaked in darkness. The only relief was that I hadn’t crossed the line. Now, though, I’d have to take action.
Zusak Sedge and her Human Rights allies via the rogue PR agent had what they wanted, to start the war to achieve aims of blood, power and dominance. The PR Agency had what they wanted, an active line to Zusak Sedge. Those I could not even think about were closing in on what they wanted, delivered into their hand by myself. The outcome would rest on my increasingly tired and weakening shoulders. Ten wasted years to reach the point I had known from the moment I had held Petra in my arms.
With a soft sigh, I asked, “Do you know about the Seedling trade?”
Lincoln shook her head. “This sounds like a conversation that requires serious lubrication.” She waved at Nanteer. “A bottle of House TopLine please. Thanks.”
House TopLine was the most expensive and sought after wine in the combined systems. It was produced in limited batches for export by a dozen estates on Pradndor. Most of the wine was held locally and used to bargain for major diplomatic concessions. Lincoln’s smile was dark, dangerous. “Fear not. I won’t ask you to split the bill. It’s from my private stock housed here.”
When Nanteer returned with a blue-green crystal bottle and two matching crystal glasses, I merely sipped in silence. The reputation of the wine wasn’t exaggerated and I refused to consider what Lincoln had done to acquire it.
“You know the Breeding Stations?” I asked, taking another enjoyable sip.
“They’re space-based bottle farms, up there to reduce problems if something goes wrong on the ground.”
I was impressed at the spread and depth of the “almost information” that had been so carefully developed by Standing Committee functionaries. I’d expected Lincoln would know about the Breeding Stations, because they were the critical connecting points between the smuggling operations across the systems, located in a semi-unclaimed pocket of space that allowed them to serve the widest range of markets for their headlines business and develop an equally lucrative alternative revenue stream from the smugglers. The money was distributed widely. Large number of vested interests provided a high degree of security, stability and plausible deniability—a winning combination.
“They aren’t bottle farms. I’m not just showing off. This is important.” I waited for her response, which came in the way of a terse nod. “Mengchi was the epicenter for the Empire War, but wasn’t reduced to cinders because those who could have, had a more powerful reason not to. Naturally occurring energy lifeforms are vanishingly rare. Mengchi is one of the few places and by far the most productive, for reasons no one’s been able to establish. Altered energy lifeforms are crucial to the economy and civilization of the systems. A reliable supply is a big deal and that means that Mengchi had to be left intact. It’s been established that the initial development of the embryos must be done here—the development can be continued at other locations—so, hence, the Seedling trade and the network of Breeding Stations.”
I sipped to allow my pulse to lower and manage the anger that flowed through my body every time I broached
this topic. Lincoln was sitting with focused attention, listening, weighing and evaluating the information, obviously assessing the implications and how she could use them.
“The Seedling trade is the source of 80% of the revenue for the Standing Committee and while it’s not officially a secret, it’s well camouflaged. The number of farms multiplied by production levels would make no sense if they were only serving a domestic market. It’s the export of embryos that are developed at the Breeding Stations that takes up the majority of output. This means that cargo shipments from the farms are fantastically valuable, blanks that can be developed in any desired fashion under the correct circumstances. The technology to develop an embryo is less complex than farm requirements, so setting up a Breeding Station is within scope. This makes it a consistent threat to the governments of the systems that depend on the Seedling trade and the breeding farms.”
Lincoln grinned as she picked up the thread. “Security there has to be significant a quiet security operation or rather multiple overlapping, feuding and corruptible security operations, sub-operations, and independent force managers all swirling around. This is a bit humiliating, Screw Top, that I didn’t know something like this.” Lincoln took a thoughtful sip.
I waited for her to ask the obvious question, Lanken help me.
“It must be very useful having the best information service in the combined systems at your beck and call. It’s fascinating. Tell me more.”
I grinned, relieved, and pushed away from the dangerous ground I was skating on. “Security is definitely the issue. Zusak Sedge was bred for security and worked on the Seedling trade until she decided that working for herself would be more lucrative. Do you know about the flare-up at the Hoxleth Breeding Station?” Flare-up was the preferred term for a bloody attempt to hijack a Breeding Station that was defeated by the single-handed actions of a resident technician. It was serious enough and included headline grabbing heroism that made it public news.
Lincoln arched an eyebrow.
“It was Zusak Sedge behind the hijack attempt and, as far as anyone knows, it was her first major act. Being beaten by Hiral Lakeview was a painful lesson that she fully learnt. Acting to get a profit was too narrow; being the burning branch of bottle born liberation was a much better disguise. Lifeforms would feely give you their lives and loyalty. No act was too absurd to consider for the cause. Zusak Sedge is every justification Human Rights militants need to drive their platforms. She’s the most wanted lifeform in the systems, but strangely has never been caught, and now she’s in Mengchi and wants me to do something for her.” I did not say that Zusak Sedge also knew who Lincoln was.
“Hiral Lakeview has a lot to answer for,” Lincoln jested weakly.
Hiral Lakeview is my personal hero. She’d made a choice to fight and proved it could be done. When faced with a colossal threat I had run, might have been the right thing to do but I could not lose the gnawing thought that Hiral Lakeview was correct and I was a coward. Lincoln must have read me correctly and offered a soft smile. “Hiral Lakeview was a serious person who acted with courage and strong tactical smarts under pressure. I admire her greatly.” Another smile. “So what do you have to do?”
“Steal the Shoshone Circlet.” I took a mouthful of wine to calm myself.
Lincoln’s glass froze close to her mouth and eyed me intently. When she realized I was serious, she took a large gulp, smiled, and sat back. “Okay, tell me how. I know you have a plan.” She searched my face and chuckled quietly. “Lanken be thanked, you’re the biggest bag of excitement in the systems. I’ve never considered how quiet my life had been before you arrived. Now, I’m enjoying myself”.
A love of reckless adventure had been included in the mix somewhere back in time, when her ancestors were being developed. I was sure if I looked hard enough, I’d find flashes of blue in the strangest places, where the stakes were the highest, and the odds of success the longest.
“I want to meet with whoever made your bracelet,” I stated.
Lincoln touched the charm that maintained her water atmosphere and regarded me curiously. “It’s impossible to make. No charm-maker capable of anything serious is allowed in the room and the surveillance team at the Centre is very good.”
“I know. I worked there for a while, but I still need to get into contact with a maker to test an idea, and only they’ll be able to tell me for sure.” I didn’t want to share more of the tattered ghost of an idea I had, nor did I want to subject it to more scrutiny than I had to.
Lincoln nodded. “I’ll ask if I can share. Now, I have something to ask you.” She smiled cheerfully, which wasn’t reassuring. “I know where the Claphain Jewel Box is and I need your help to get it.”
Now I knew why the House TopLine had been produced; this was space-pocket stuff, so insane that it made mining space pockets for gravity seem reasonable. When defeat was finally recognized as inevitable, Empress Ingea gathered the inner circle of her cabinet for a final discussion. No one had any idea what was discussed, but it was known is that Empress Ingea left the room and vanished. It was claimed, documented, proven, and demonstrated that Empress Ingea was on a vessel destroyed during an intense battle. The group it was part of tried to breach the border of the Sickle Quadrant. The group was detected at the exact time it would have taken for them to arrive at the border, if they’d departed Mengchi at the time Empress Ingea left.
The problem with the Claphain Jewel Box, which was the same problem with Empress Ingea, is that it did exist; in fact, it was Empress Ingea’s personal jewel box and possibly most treasured possession. The box contained a matched set of ten firestones, which provided a source of energy, enough to power a private bottle farm. It had been given to an unidentified courtier, who’d placed it in safekeeping, ready for Empress Ingea’s triumphant return with the hordes from the Sickle Quadrant. If you believed that, then I had a map that showed the location of the Claphain Jewel Box, yours for an entirely reasonable price.
The potential value of the contents of the Claphain Jewel Box never diminished over the centuries it had actually increased as technology to utilize the power of firestones developed. Matched firestones produced more than double the energy of a single one, and increasing the number of matches had a wildly disproportionate increase in input. A set of ten matched stones today would provide enough power to make the most ambitious space-mining programs economical and profitable. The Claphain Jewel Box remained a historical footnote and hobby mystery item for centuries; if previously located, it would have triggered a new war over who was entitled to it. All that changed with the passage of time, the steady dimming of memory, and the discovery of the Lahhosen Deep Vault.
A 95% success rate in correctly developing charms and implementing energy-bearing structures sounded impressive, but what it hid were the numberless years it took to get to that rate and the dangling 5% that still existed. Unintended consequences could be significant where charms and energy-bearing structures were involved; the lifeform who fell from the sky 1,000 years after stepping through a tower door was the most famous example. Following the demolition of a wharf at the Lahhosen inner port, a second structure appeared in its place: a deep vault designed to remain hidden within the folds of other structures. It should have remained hidden. The demolition, however, had been incorrectly implemented, inhaled rather than exhaled—and the vault was revealed.
The vault security was all in the disguise; it was relatively easy to unlock. Inside was an archive of documents from a very rich, rather bored and quite obsessive mystery hunter from the Inquon System, who’d come to Mengchi to search for the Claphain Jewel Box. Finding the archive had two outcomes. The first was that the Standing Committee issued a ruling that whoever found the Claphain Jewel Box would be the sole and exclusive owner of it. The second, the search for the Claphain Jewel Box went mainstream and reliably provided 15% of the annual Mengchi tourist revenue. During the following 400 years, the fever didn’t abate … and was still as potent as ever from wha
t I could see in Lincoln’s expression.
“If we assume that the Great Destroyer wasn’t stupid then it’s reasonable to assume that she knew that she was in an end-game and that she had a plan,” she mused aloud.
“Sure, it’s safe to assume that there was a tactical retreat being implemented. Giving up was never an option.”
“Very good, then you’d agree that a return was planned for when that next required step had been executed?”
“I would.”
She cocked her head and scanned my set expression. “Would you also agree that a point of return had been established, just as a point of departure had been prepared?”
“Agreed.”
“This point of return would be behind enemy lines when the return occurred, both for tactical reasons and because the enemy would have been actively searching for her … returning to places that had already been searched and would be less secured, thereby increasing chances of successful re-entry.”
“I can see the logic to that, but so would her pursuers,” I pointed out.
“There’d be logistical constraints at work, because they had to guard places that hadn’t been fully cleared. Reported sightings would have to be investigated. The greater balance of force would have to be at the forward positions and follow-up searches. The rest of the locations would have to be more exposed. Not stripped of forces, just having less to cover the area, so blind spots would be more frequent. Just a fractional advantage. She never showed that she needed anything more than that.”
“Then she was killed at the Sickle border,” I said with feigned innocence.
Lincoln shot a don’t-be-stupid look. “A bag of replacement body parts, sufficient to leave trace evidence and varied enough, could easily be stuffed into a costume and placed in a command chair ready to receive a direct hit. The perfect headline for those desperate enough to believe it. Now may I continue?”
Bottle Born Blues Page 12