Bottle Born Blues

by Conor H Carton

  “Right on time … and time for us to go. There’s more work to do.”

  As Lincoln and I headed for the stair door, the security team that had landed on the roof of the UPCR HQ was already moving into the building. They’d catch Zusak Sedge and Mr. Hennessey with the Avian-made copy of the Shoshone Circlet in their hot little hands.

  13

  We descended to the basement parking level and got into an utterly ordinary, family-plus road vehicle, with Lincoln providing instructions to the drive unit. Quietly, we joined the river of traffic that flowed outside. Lincoln and I sat in the space at the back in fabulously comfortable seats, eating and drinking from the large picnic box on the floor between us. When we’d finished, I asked a question that had been nagging me. “Surely the security teams know the tipoff is a set-up? Won’t they trace the call and pull the thread back right back to you?”

  Lincoln took a swig from her flask, placed it in the box, and reclined before answering. “They know it’s a CP, so that’s no matter. At least 40% of the calls they get are CPs and at least 80% of the calls that end with a bonus payment are CPs.”

  “CP?” I was confused.

  “Combined Product. The person making the call is combining two items, information about an event that will cause a problem for someone, but be a benefit to someone else. The caller gets a bonus for the information, which is how they’re paid for their services. When there’s a change of top management, calls are investigated and it’s discovered that the caller found the information in an untraceable manner … someone hacked their account and dropped the information in front of them. As responsible citizens, they reported the information to the relevant section, and as a reward for that, they get a payment.

  “There was a very stupid team that tried to establish a process whereby they dropped the information, the call was made, the bonus paid, and they then collected a portion of the bonus for themselves. This worked well the first time; the second time, they handed in a bigger catch for a bigger bonus and used the same caller. This caught attention. The trail was followed to diner at a restaurant—he was spending the bonus cash to celebrate. He and his guest were shipped to an enforcement location in the Quing Configuration for their own safety.

  “So, yes, security sections know it’s a set-up, but it doesn’t matter. The UPCR’s making a deal about the Shoshone Circlet. No one is actually going to steal it, but the tip-off suggested that they’re up to something worth investigating. If there’s something there, then the UPCR will cut a deal with the security services to keep quiet and edges will get filed off the agenda. The status quo seems more acceptable than they thought. Win-win all round.”

  “Isn’t it possible to be too cynical?”

  “Being too cynical is the most common mistake made in the business. If you aren’t expecting the righteous, you’ll have serious trouble. Most are in the business for a reason, something that makes sense of costs and benefits … when costs become greater than benefits, you stop. For the righteous, the cost is the benefit; the higher the cost, the greater the benefit.”

  “Someone did steal the Shoshone Circlet. We did.” I felt I was missing something.

  Lincoln shook her head. "The Shoshone Circlet hasn’t been stolen. There was another regrettable attempt, which may be linked to the election and, in particular, the UPCR. The UPCR will vigorously deny any such assertion. At the first meeting of the new Standing Committee, the Shoshone Circlet exhibition, with the Circlet, will re-open to the public and everything will continue. Everyone who knows the Shoshone Circlet has actually been stolen, which includes you and me, will be five people … who have a vested investment in proving it was not stolen.

  “If everyone simply agrees that there was no theft, then there’s no problem. We try to offload the Shoshone Circlet. Tell people who’re watching for this offload where you are; they can then recover the Shoshone Circlet, and kill you. They’ll return the Shoshone Circlet to the exhibition, and everyone’s happy and everything’s fair under the sun again.”

  “That seems very well thought out.”

  “Good catch, Screw-Top. At least once a week I get an invitation to listen to a plan to lift the Shoshone Circlet. It’s a magnet for every thief: the un-stealable jewel. It’s an affront to professional vanity. They want it not because they could do something with it, but because they want the glory of being the lifeform that broke the system … that they’re the greatest thief in history.”

  She chuckled dryly. “I’ve heard really good plans and some have the same mechanics that we used … all spoiled by ego. You, on the other hand, never wanted to steal it; you wanted to steal a headline so you could get out from under Zusak Sedge. It was a smart play and I was willing to help.

  “Then you told me that the key to getting the Claphain Jewel Box was having the Shoshone Circlet and suddenly I had to take the matter more seriously. I realized we could do it not because of your plan, smart as it was, but because no one would ever admit that it happened. If we could get out alive, then we could stay alive. ”

  “I see,” I lied, offering a lame smile.

  “No you don’t, Screw-Top. There’s a lot more going on than what we’re doing. I’m along for the ride because I trust you even if you don’t trust me. I’ll let you spill on your own time.”

  The only reason I didn’t start yammering on the spot was the heavy weight that sat on my chest to remind me of the lives I’d already ruined beyond repair. I’d help Lincoln with her plan and I’d stop the rot without involving another person. “What was it like when you shifted?” I asked humbly, changing topic.

  Lincoln scanned the area as she considered it. “Not what I was expecting, not a bit. Shifting is a natural movement, the same as walking for you. I do it without thinking. A puddle on the ground will do if you have the experience. Not being stupid, the security system expects this as a point of entry. That’s why various suspension liquids were used before they decided on water, which amplifies toxins much more efficiently than any other medium. There are underground labs that have been experimenting with dosages and dilutions for decades, and they’ve reached the same conclusions as the Centre team: mix the four together in the right proportions and they’re very stable. To disrupt them, you need to release enough energy to kill any lifeform in the chamber at the same time. They key is in creating a delay, which has proven elusive.

  “I’d never thought of the weather vane as a barrier until I had to seriously consider how to enter and exit the chamber. I pulled an egg from boiling water without thinking, until I looked at the smoking egg and made the connection. I had a way to delay the impact of the toxins—no idea if it would be enough, but still enough to start. So, I shifted and found out that the Centre team is very tricky indeed. The water is spiked with a powerful mindbender that slipped by the vane. I was in the ocean, in the middle of a multitude of colourful fish that moved with absolute beauty and grace. I wanted to join them.

  “It was the toxins that saved me. When I peered below, I couldn’t see the ocean floor, but my foot with a nasty burn; it was resting against the pedestal of the display case. A second burn on my shoulder pulled me halfway out of the illusion, enough for me to reach for the case, and concentrate on the shift. Everything intensified. The ocean became real and the burns started to multiply. I’d thought I wouldn’t be able to shift with the case, that it would take too much effort.

  Then the shoal parted and a big blue swan into view, all eyes and grinning teeth. They were the terror of my childhood, as an FYI. Aquatics are their favourite food. As it closed in on me and dropped its massive jaw to take a big bite, terror prompted me to escape, which is when I shifted back to the tank.”

  Lincoln fell silent, and I didn’t have anything to add. We sat in silence as transports moved through the convoluted route that Lincoln had designed. Finally, she spoke. “We’re not being followed and there’s been no forward observers either, so this looks clean. What’s the plan when we get there?”

 
There was a largely unused service entrance for the Red Halls. We’d be met by a BookWorm, who would escort us to the library, which is where the NoWhere had been set up.

  “We walk in as nonchalantly as possible, look like we have official business, follow the BookWorm, and when we get to the library … I pretty much have no idea. Every NoWhere is unique; there’s no pattern. If you have the key, I’m supposing we can find it. The only thing I’m sure about is that it’s there. The library is camouflage, not in the original plans, and the space has remained empty for four renovations. However, the space was always listed as a library on all the plans and said library was set up months before the end, when storage and contents were moved in. When the searchers came through, they found a library where a library should be and, after examining those contents and storage carefully, left it alone.”

  “How did they miss it? I always thought they examined every microbe.”

  “They weren’t looking for it, but for information, hidden or disguised records, trails that would take them somewhere or reveal what had been going on. The library was a relatively insecure location, open to a wide range of staff and showing no change in usage. There were more pressing areas that needed attention. Akion told me that a NoWhere was one of the possibilities they were actively investigating as part of the search. When they screened for it, they found differentials that drew further analysis and finally pinpointed the location.”

  “Just to return to your plan, we’re going to walk in, attract no notice, and make it when we get there, right?”

  “Ye-es.”

  Lincoln reclined in her seat, eyes closed. I looked out the window. We finally reached the park that surrounded the Red Halls, which was crammed with winding trails that brought you to breathtaking views and vistas. The plants were varied, native and off-world plants. Vegetable lifeforms clustered together in gardens of variegated grasses and flower banks. They were the Empress’ pleasure gardens and had never been altered.

  The proximity of the Red Halls was more than enough to keep citizens away. Tourist tours often scurried past. I’d walked every trail numerous times, feeling peace in the whispering plant life. There was no security around the Red Halls and I’d frequently strolled up to and around them without any challenges. The wildly decorated main entrance, a single block of natural undersea stone carved into the wide open mouth of a monstrous Killisa snake, was eye-fetching. Its tongue served as steps and venomous fangs hung over you as you entered. The Killisa was the only creature that produced no waste from feeding and never grew beyond the normal adult size of three metres. The operators of the Red Halls may have changed, but the message had not; what went in, didn’t come back out.

  The entrance we were headed for was much plainer, a simple arch in a wall with a wooden door. Ostentatious modesty was one of the marks of the Empire. The wood was from the burning forests of Wrexen, harvested during the week between tree maturing and spontaneous combustion. Touching a tree could cause it to ignite. The door was slightly ajar and, as we approached, swung open in full to reveal a BookWorm in the doorway, observing us with slowly blinking eyes.

  The BookWorm spoke softly. “Sir, I am Haddon. The honour of seeing you and serving you will shine for me and my children until the Final Day. You too, Lincoln Bluefish, friend of the One Who Saw. It is an honour to see you.” Haddon stepped aside and we walked into the Red Halls, which were not actually red, but a drab ash-grey.

  “The whole structure is called the Red Halls.” Haddon led us along a narrow corridor. “The actual Red Halls are only part of the structure and are three floors above us. They were the throne room and reception room for the Empress, and are indeed red. The rest of the structure is not intended to be viewed by anyone, so colour is more muted.”

  Lincoln leaned into me and whispered, “They have children?”

  Exactly the question that had been in my mind. I didn’t answer in case I started to laugh. When Lincoln had shifted in the chamber at the Centre, I was one degree removed; here, I was in the middle of it. There was a powerful charm working to prevent anyone from keeping track of where they were going.

  After an immeasurable length of time, we came to stairs ascending to what appeared to be a large alcove, with a door in the middle. Haddon extended a thin arm and touched the door, which shivered and opened. I was dumbstruck. This was a room straight out of my deepest dreams and I wanted it. It was shaped like a large pie slice. Shelved walls arced around a generous but not cavernous space. Three balconies ran the length of the walls. Skylights threw soft, indirect light on everything—strong enough to read by, not so strong as to damage the contents.

  Bookshelves, up to the second balcony, lined walls. In the centre were individual reading desks and chairs. My bum ached to sit in one, and I already had one in mind. I’d spread out a stack of volumes and sit there, get lost in them, and the rest of the universe could fuck itself. A soft touch from Lincoln brought me back to reality. “Sorry. Caught by a charm.”

  Haddon looked at me. “There are no charms in the library.” They led the way past the shelves and across the centre, before finally halting midway down an aisle. “This is the location we’ve established as having the greatest probability of containing the NoWhere. There are two other locations, with slightly lesser probabilities. If this one proves false, we’ll rerun calculations to establish the next location.”

  The BookWorm withdrew and Lincoln and I were left to decide what to do next.

  “You have the bag,” Lincoln pointed out a few seconds of serious staring.

  I put it on the floor and removed the case. The blank head with the Circlet sitting on top appeared entirely undisturbed by the events and actions. Looking at it in the library, I was conscious of the enormity of what we’d done: stolen the Shoshone Circlet and walked into the Red Halls. I examined the case to determine how it could be opened. It appeared to have been molded as a single piece—stand with head. I rapped it and glass shattered, and fell to the ground.

  “Stronger than you look,” Lincoln quipped as she eyed the stunned look on my face and the way my arm remained frozen over the Circlet.

  Drawing a quick breath, I reached for the Circlet and imagined it writhing under my touch and shrieking “thief, thief” like in storybooks. It didn’t. It was slightly cold to the touch and gave no sense of residual power, which charms usually do. With the Circlet firmly in hand, I rose and, feeling self-conscious raised it above my head and waved it. No response.

  “It has to be worn,” Lincoln said quietly. “It was designed to be worn, so I’m guessing it needs to be worn now.” She caught my expression and shook her head. “I won’t put on a slave collar for anyone.”

  I placed the Circlet on my head, where it rested for a micro-second before suddenly expanding, slipping over my face, and tightening around my neck. Everyone had been wrong about the Shoshone Circlet. It wasn’t a charm—it was alive and now it was awake.

  14

  The library was gone and I was standing at the foot of a stone ladder that led to a doorway carved to resemble the sun. I started to climb. At each rung, I could feel myself being assessed and scanned to ensure I had the correct key. The circle around my neck was warm and pulsed in response to the probing, silent questioning. At the top of the ladder, the doors were recessed; I stood in front, wondering what to do.

  The doors were smooth and blank, and there was a line down the middle that indicated two doors. I put a hand on each, in case I could just push them open. That did nothing, so I tried pushing them up, down, down, up. Nothing happened. I examined the doors more carefully, in case I’d missed a key hole or a code pad, anything that would provide a hint how to open them.

  This was the most closely guarded location in the Empire. You couldn’t find it unless you were wearing the Shoshone Circlet. Anyone wearing the Circlet would know what I now knew—that it was a living entity. This wasn’t enough to gain entry into the space, as there was a second layer of security. Someone who got this far w
ould have, should have, expected it.

  A stray thought: in all of the Empress’ images and portraits, including the one in the Mengchi Centre for the Promotion of Historical Knowledge, which showed her wearing the imperial jewels, she’d never worn the Circlet. Lincoln had called it a slave collar and she was right. The Circlet demanded a host and the Empress would bow to no will but her own; when she’d come here, it would have been with another lifeform wearing the Circlet. She’d have had her own key and the combination would have opened the doors.

  This was entirely useless to me, of course, because the Empress wasn’t here to help open the doors. I turned to return and saw that the ladder had vanished. There was only one route back to the library and that was through the dim space in front.

  The secret of the Circlet had been studied carefully for centuries, but had never come to light. I had held the Circlet in my hands and nothing happened, but when I put it on my head, something did. I was positive that in all of the tests conducted, wearing it had never been one of them. Someone had to wear it so that information circulated. The Empress and another entity stood here, but the Empress alone emerged on the other side, with the Circlet in her hand and the secret safe.

  After handing the Claphain Jewel Box to a courtier at the end of a meeting, the Empress vanished. I could easily imagine a few missing details from that story. The courtier held the jewel box and the Circlet, the pair standing before the opening doors, the Empress then taking the box and killing the courtier. Upon departure, she carefully returned the Circlet to its usual location and exited in a waiting craft. Everything was in place for her return, except that she never did. Now I was here and had no idea how to open these doors, and starving to death here wasn’t an attractive alternative. I could step into the darkness—maybe it was an illusion and the ladder was still there. I stepped off the edge and found myself facing the doors again.