They also allowed me wallow in a huge bout of self-pity and footless recrimination about what could have been if only circumstances and reality had been what it should have been instead of what it actually was. Misinformation and replacing reality with manufactured memories, everyone including myself did it right up to the Shoshone Circlet. It was an artifact that managed to bury an appalling history under some powerful charisma that captured every lifeform that saw it.
Which is when an idea slipped into my mind, fully formed and vibrant, it must have been waiting for the opportunity to present itself. My shadow had looked at the Circlet every day I worked at the Historical Centre and every day had fallen under its spell. Acknowledging power was not the same (I hope) as accepting it. Power is a relationship and a perception, reframe the perception and the relationship could change.
The problem was not actually stealing the Shoshone Circlet, I knew how to do that the problem was what to do after we had stolen it. I had been ducking the issue by pretending that giving a replica to Zusak Sedge would work without a proper context to sell the deal. I had been sitting with my eyes closed holding part of the puzzle praying desperately that it was really the whole picture. Other stray pieces of information started to become relevant and steadily a more coherent plan developed. Lincoln would have ideas and information as well that could support or change the plan. Time to get to work.
The days prior to the election were extremely busy. The UPCR machinery had cranked into full force and hordes of additional volunteers were busy spreading the word. The momentum that the UPCR had gathered was clear and it was inevitable that they’d take some of the open slots on the Standing Committee. But how many, and how would that change the existing power groupings? This was what my PR handlers wanted to know and I tried to find out.
I was never included in any strategy meetings, but I soaked up and reported all the gossip and leakage I could find. Two days before the election, there was a general gathering of the HQ staff. I had told her the plan some days before and had arranged to meet her after the gathering. Seeing her at the gathering was unexpected. She was there in some unspecified security role that she was annoying vague about. We were addressed by a handsome Golden Ornamental. He was an actual candidate. He was “The acceptable face of bottle-farming” according to Lincoln who then added an appreciative critique of his physique.
The candidate spoke to the campaign staff, “Thank you for your work in this vital election. This is the first time we’ve been able to stand for ourselves and express our own requirements and desires. This will be a historic moment, regardless of the results. We’d still like results to be historic, as well. We need ideas from you about how to capture the spirit of the campaign, the inclusive and tolerant spirit I feel so strongly here today. There are citizens who want to vote for us, but are hesitating to do so because they’re still not sure what we represent. I’m appealing to you, you who’ve worked so hard, you who embody the spirit of this campaign and the UPCR, to present ideas that simply and effectively capture this moment, ideas that others can share and declare with confidence and pride.”
He stopped speaking and looked around the room, and I realized he was actually asking for ideas. This was an unexpected opening, I had wondered how I would make my suggestion there was very short space of time to get it accepted let alone implemented. Everyone in the room had an idea. We offered our ideas to a team of recorders I’d not noticed before. We weren’t asked for identification, just details. I gave my idea and moved away, but not quickly enough. I was touched on the arm and turned to find Zusak Sedge and her shadow. Lincoln had vanished; I neither heard nor seen her go.
“Clever, worm, very clever I’m feeling satisfied with you, something that’s unfortunately rare. You’re close to restoring my faith in humanity.” With a wide smile to push home the joke, she glanced around the room before continuing. “I’d go so far as to say that your plan won’t require support from me to be accepted.”
I didn’t speak in case it encouraged her to stay longer. She stood alongside Mr. Hennessey, both looking as innocuous as glasses of water, as the Golden Ornamental drew up. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m looking for Mr. Shakbout Mansard.”
I raised my hand and he continued. “Mr. Shakbout Mansard, what an astonishing and compelling idea you’ve proposed. It’s bold and imaginative, and captures the spirit of the UPCR and the election. We think it will provide exactly the edge we’re looking for, a powerful symbol that will bring everyone together and reclaim a piece of our history that has remained unseen for too long. Not to be officious, but would you mind coming with me? There are a number of release forms that you’d need to sign before we can proceed with action.” He smiled broadly and stepped aside so I could follow him—which I did, with immense relief.
I’d not been sure when I submitted my proposal if it would be seen as outlandish or provocative. I was a little surprised that it gained acceptance so quickly. I followed the candidate out of the hall and into a large office that was nearly full, with lifeforms seated at tables and standing around boards covered in writing. Everyone had pictures and posters that were being examined and discussed; this was the final meeting to set the media messages for the end run of the election.
I was taken to a small wooden desk in a far corner where a small SilverScale sat with an empty chair in front of him. I recognized Dr Fleet, the campaign communications manager who’d been taken on after Dr Sand’ departure. I had had no dealings with him and when I was directed into the chair by the candidate, he looked at me curiously.
The Ornamental spoke before I could. “This is Mr. Shakbout Mansard and he’s here to sign the release forms.” He may have thought that I’d change my mind and hold them to ransom after his ill-advised bout of enthusiasm. There’d be no problems; I wanted the idea to fly even more than they did, and if signing away rights would do it, I’d spend the day with pen in hand, signing them away.
“Ah, thank you, Junger. Let me assure you, sir, we’re not trying to take away any of your rights. We need release forms for the manufacturers to start working. In the event that we cover the initial costs and there’s a distributable profit, you’ll receive full entitlement. Yes, that form please, and this one,” he said casually as he pointed. “If you’d put a thumbprint there—and yes, a retina copy … a little further from your face. Yes that’s it. And, finally, if I could just jab your finger for a blood smear on this one … thank you. We’re done.” He twisted in his chair and called to someone name Lathall.
A small StoneBeater sauntered up and looked at him expectantly.
“Lathall, take these to the distribution centre. We’ll need work to start right away, and have the first batches ready for the launch at ten tomorrow morning. Speedy does it, please.”
I stood, shook his outstretched hand, and headed out to meet up with Lincoln to find out if she’d been successful.
“Fuck” was the response when I asked her. We were in a small restaurant close to the Historical Centre, the best place to sit and be unobserved or overheard, the flow of tourists providing excellent and effective screening for anyone who actually sat down.
“Fuck good or fuck bad?” I joked, not sure if she was referring to the security work for the campaign or the work for our plan.
“Just regular fuck.”
I eyed her closely. “Not getting what you mean.”
“I can see why you’re single, Screw-Top. The art of conversation isn’t one you’ve mastered, is it? The ordinary give-and-take of information eludes you. Ordinary fuck. I’m tired. I’ve been on the prowl all day and have some results, but nothing outstanding. My shoulders are cramped from squeezing into tight corners. I’ve been nice and polite to a stream of lifeforms I would cheerfully have knifed. I haven’t eaten, am hungry and thirsty, and will share details after food and drink. And frankly those turds at the HQ know about as much about security as the boot heel, in fact I now have to apologise to my boot heel. Bending over backwards not
to appear threatening is one thing, willfully ignoring basic security precautions is another. Just as well I quadrupled my fee given the nonsense that I have had to endure. Lanken save me from amateurs”
I’d been scalded by her opening words and barely heard the rest. She’d drawn a sharpened nail along an open wound, finding the deepest root of my fears and mangled hopes.
“Sorry Screw-Top, I know you can manage a conversation with casual expertise and I am sure that you are single only because you are having such a hard time choosing amongst the lifeforms vying for your attention. I can recommend the Laurauin stew. They use actual Kjant onions from Laurauin, nothing home-grown.”
I reminded myself that Lincoln did not know why I was living by myself and accepted the peace offering and the recommendation. We handed our orders in silence … and ate in silence. Finally, over shots and a large jug of tangy blue foam to chase them down with, Lincoln described her day. “I started by going to see the target. I’d never been there before and only know about it by reputation, which is not exaggerated in the slightest. I’m very impressed by the arrangements, discreet and comprehensive. Your plan’s about as ridiculous as any I’ve heard, but I do think it’s the only one with a chance. It’ll still be as tight as a Colefax’s bum in a mudslide. There’s a location blur operating in the target chamber, high-spec and well-calibrated. Happily, they’ve been secure for so long that they haven’t been keeping up with the market, and I was able to nail the coordinates before they caught my track.
“There was lots of discreet extra scrutiny as we exited, but I’d burned out the unit as soon as I had the details, so there was nothing for them to hook onto, though a lot of people are going to find that their recorders have malfunctioned. The space is wider than I’d expected, so I’ll need to get the delivery into a very small radius to make sure there’s time to operate. I spent hours practicing. The fine-tuning’s tricky, but I expect to be ready for the show.”
I offered a compliment and she flashed a quick smile of gratitude.
“That was the fun part. I then scouted locations. Lanken’s Tears, spare me from ever having to deal with property agents ever again. I imagined providing detailed specifications would speed up the process, “ She shook her head and chuckled lightly. “I’ve seen filthy living spaces on ground floors in a section five kilometres from the square, having no functional wet rooms, that even Mud Wallowers would have found revolting. On the other hand, I was shown an unexpected jewel in the Lighthouse section, four spaces knocked into one and decorated in Steporvian New Age opulence … which I did take. It’ll nicely solve a pressing problem I’m having with another client. “
She took a large, noisy gulp of blue foam. “I did finally find a suitable space further out than ideal, on the limit of the range in fact, but a tank can be installed in the wet room quickly and the entrance can be fortified. I have a team working on that The security team at the centre will track us quickly. I estimate we’ll have 15 seconds before they take out the front door and 17 before they detonate the ceiling.”
“How long will it take you to get out of the tank?”
“Five seconds,” she replied. “I can’t make it any quicker than that.”
“How long to dress after you’re out?”
“Another five seconds. The defense suit has layers that need to be sequenced correctly.”
I nodded, my expression grim. “You’re sure that you’ll be ready to travel 10 seconds after returning from the centre?”
Lincoln replied in the affirmative.
“You’re ready after 10 seconds and they’re crashing through in 15, so that’s a problem. That’s too big a gap.”
“Too big?”
“I need the energy from the door-entry for the drop, because if I use independent energy, we leave a trace. A five-second wait is too long to hold everything together. I need you out of the tank and dressed as the entrance is blown. That way, we’re gone before as they enter, without leaving a trace. They’ll find the route, which will take a good two minutes, and by then we’ll be out of range.”
“I can leave a trace for them which will speed up the arrival, they will hit the dor exactly 10 seconds after the breach alarm goes.”
“Won’t it go when you enter the room?”
“No, that is one of the weak points they have allowed to develop. Lots of attention to getting out, not enough to getting in. . Which brings me to the question that’s become rather urgent, how do we get out? ”
I grinned. I’d wondered if Lincoln would guess and felt a touch of pleasure that she hadn’t. “We’re taking the Rat Lines.”
Lincoln mulled it over, then offered a huge smile. “Nicely done. How do we move through the Rat Lines without becoming goblin food?”
“I have a safe pass from the Chief Herder.” One of the big surprises that came with the job was the number of unofficial power centres I had to negotiate with to ensure work crews could work safely in the shit pots. There were big communities who lived there and they all had to be placated. The goblins lived in the Rat Lines, a largely dilapidated and unused set of pipes that ran from nowhere to nowhere. They were a breeding ground for a large rodent that butchered up nicely. The rodent herders were goblins, whose origins no one knew or cared about. They claimed the Rat Lines as their own and ate anyone they found there. They preferred live food, so IPS staff members were generally unmolested.
“That’ll get us in and out, and it makes no difference for the distance,” Lincoln advised. “Without an IPS crew, we’ll be considered available. What we need is a distraction.”
“What kind?”
“Alcohol is the only thing that will pull them away. It needs to be a major spill or source. Lanken knows why, but they’ve never developed any brewing or distilling technology, and they have a mighty thirst. If we had time, I’d drop a shipment, but on short notice, it would attract too much attention.”
“What if they could get into a BetteNotth warehouse?”
“That would be excellent, but unlikely unless you know something that I don’t that you’re going to share.”
“I may know something. There’s an obsolete vent access on the junction near a Rat Lines exit that I’ve submitted five reports about to the BetteNotth operations management, as well as the PS operations archive. I file the reports for cover, just in case it ever becomes a problem; it’s been duly noted and reported. It isn’t ours and is in a poor state of repair. I pick it up as part of the work-crew audits for various sections using the junction.
“BetteNotth won’t repair it, because it’d be expensive to do so. The whole shaft would have to be renovated and the security threat is considered too small to balance the cost, because it doesn’t directly access the warehouse. It emerges in front of the main loading dock, which is in operation constantly.
“Security wouldn’t be ready for a swarm of goblins and they might be able to get to the vats before reinforcements arrive. If the goblins breach the vats, there’s a good chance they’ll simply let them fill up, and pass out before sweeping them up. That would avoid casualties.”
Lincoln nodded thoughtfully. ”Why haven’t the goblins used this already?”
“A poor state of repair isn’t the same as broken. It isn’t actually hanging open, but needs a nudge to do that, and I think we have that nudge. When you return to the tank, there’ll be a displacement I was going to vent; instead, I could direct it at the hinges. It should be sufficient to snap them and the grate will drop.”
“Should?” Lincoln didn’t survive by skating over mines; she inspected them carefully instead.
“I’ll get an IPS crew to spray a corridor as they pass by tomorrow. Two days later, they’ll be ready to snap.”
Lincoln frowned and drank the last of the blue foam.
“I think a little more bait would be good—an alcohol vapor leak coming from the vent would stir them up and give an edge to their appetite. It would also bring them closer to the vent so that when it fell, there’d b
e a sufficient group ready to swarm, and give us a chance to travel the distance without meeting too much opposition.”
Lincoln pulled a cube from her pocket and called out a map of the location when I identified the vent junction and location. She then made a call, speaking an unrecognizable language, and organized the dropping of a vapor bomb for later that night. She also arranged for the security team to be distracted, and a hijacking that would take place outside the transit yard.
Lincoln got ready to leave. “Now, we have to be ready for everything to go wrong and deal with it on the spot.” On that cheery note, she headed off in one direction and I left in the other.
The next two days were too long and too short. The HR handlers were demanding reports and updates hourly as the polls started to clarify plausible UPCR gains. They were emerging as the third biggest block on the Standing Committee. This would mean that they’d have juicy sub-committee positions and be in a position to implement policy. This was now a serious issue across the Public Service and I was being pulled into formal and informal meetings where attempts were being made to assess post-election possibilities.
We still had to maintain our numbers, which required my attention on department details. Pre-election jitters seemed to be running rampant. Rosby was working flat-out to keep problems minimal. The intense tribal identifications that the election normally drew to the surface had been enhanced by the prominence of the UPCR. Clearly, there was realignment on the way and the haves and have-nots were scrambling for positions, with everyone animated by ambiguity. Work, on the other hand, didn’t energize anyone; it was barely a reason to gather into groups to plot, forecast, protest, air grievances, or whine.
At the UPCR HQ, preparations had reached a fever state. The desire to believe the polls and a desire not to be complacent mixed uneasily. Policy and strategy meetings pulled candidates away from campaigning, which inspired bouts of public activity to ensure that every potential voter was committed. I never got to complete any tasks, because I was moved to a more urgent one before being moved again. Everyone wanted to talk and no one wanted to suggest anything or offer an actual forecast result.
Bottle Born Blues Page 14