Everything in New had the sharp-edged definition of recent construction. Office buildings rose, shiny, about him, with colored logos and messages climbing the walls and dancing across the surfaces. The buildings were decked in tasteful hues, one coordinated to the other, none of them clashing, designed to provide the optimal psychological environment. Advertising drones skimmed the groundspace, avoiding the legs and feet of passersby. One or two gave bursts of music as they passed, familiar catchy phrases meant to snag the attention. Jack just stood, soaking up the atmosphere. Everywhere was movement and activity. Maybe it hadn’t been a mistake coming up here after all.
He picked a direction at random and headed down a terracotta side street. The street led to a wide, open square. A tall sculpture stood at the square's center, flowing and realigning its surface, constantly reshaping itself with pleasing curves, painted in liquid gunmetal. Benches and seats lay at various points, some of them occupied by people talking to each other, or simply sitting back and watching the sculpture. Above, the clear ceiling panel, free of displays, allowed natural light to filter down. The place was empty of the ever-present drones. Such squares, scattered over the length of New, operated as an exclusion zone for advertising. Ambience, environment — that was what it was all about.
Jack spotted a café over the other side and headed across. Finding a seat with a good view of the square’s occupants, he watched the sculpture's soothing lines for a while then turned to the people clustered in ones and twos around the open space. His attention fell on a young couple, absorbed in each other's company and watching them there, he felt a slight pang of something hollow. He'd never been good at relationships, but it didn't mean he didn't miss them — the comfort, the security.
He screwed up his face and shook the thought away. What did he want with comfort and security? He had work to do. He took a few moments keying in his order and waited for the drink to arrive before slipping out his handipad and placing it on the table before him. He prodded it with his finger, pushing it randomly across the table surface. A sip. A push. Another sip. Then he opened the device and thumbed it into life. He was supposed to be up here relaxing, clearing his head, but he knew he just couldn't leave it alone.
A few keys and there, on the screen was the miniature image of the mine. Company investigators had gone in and taken vids, compiling the evidence. Jack watched the shaky images for a few minutes until they drew close to the mine entrance. This time the lights were on, and the familiar mineshaft opened up bathed in light. Crazy shadows stuttered across the shaft walls and Jack felt the post-dream chill rising in his gorge. He wasn't going to clear his head this way. He flipped off the pad and shoved it deep into his pocket.
Jack finished his coffee in one swallow, stood and left the square. He wanted a meeting with Outreach. He needed a meeting with Outreach. Warburg had to give him something else. Whatever he was playing at, the man just wasn't telling him everything. Jack could feel it deep in his guts. The mine fragment, the vid, they were starting points, but if Warburg wanted results, he was just going to have to come up with a something more.
THREE
Jack sat back in a comfortable leather chair and watched the corporate executive across from him, waiting for him to speak. He wanted to see which way Warburg would take this. Try as he might, he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the man was playing him somehow.
"So, Stein. Have you got something for us?" Warburg sat comfortably in his chair, seemingly at ease, virtually in the same position, as if he simply hadn't moved since the last time they'd met.
William Warburg was approaching late middle age. He wore his corporate tan in the same way he wore his designer button-down suit, smoothly. Everything about the man was smooth: the office designed to maximize the positive energies; the comfortable chairs arrayed around the low circular table; the way he sat back in his chair, legs neatly crossed without the hint of a wrinkle in the suit; the soothing subliminals flickering in the wall behind him. He tilted his head forward a fraction, waiting for Jack's reply.
"Mister Warburg." Jack continued looking across at his client, observing the man’s unreadable face before continuing. "I've made some headway. The sample you provided has yielded some results, but I'm afraid it's not enough."
The barest frown flickered across Warburg's brow, but he quickly regained his composure. "How so?"
"Well, it's provided me with some cues for the stuff I do, but I think that there's something you're not telling me. If I'm going to find out what happened to your crew, you need to tell me everything."
Warburg narrowed his eyes. "Look, Stein, if you want me to do your job for you—"
"No, wait." Jack lifted a hand to still the protest. "You don't have to tell me anything that might compromise your company security. I just want to ask you a couple of questions based on what I know so far. You want me to help you, you're going to have to help me."
Warburg pressed his lips together and sat back. "All right. Proceed."
"First I need to know if there are any other interests involved on Dairil III."
"I thought that's what we'd employed you for, Stein. Is there a point to this?"
"Yes to both. If you suspect outside involvement, I need to know."
"Of course we suspect outside involvement."
"Well then. Who else has interests on Dairil III?"
Warburg gave a long sigh. "If we knew that, what need would we have of your services?"
This was getting nowhere fast. Jack decided to try another tack. "What can you tell me about a design, a logo, a corporate symbol, anything like that — a snake biting its own tail? Does that mean anything to you?"
Warburg's frown got deeper, but Jack thought he detected the barest flicker in the man's eyes.
"Nothing," said Warburg. "Should it? Look I don't see where this is leading. Why should some symbol, some archaic mystical sign, have anything to do with our crew's disappearance? We deal in hard facts and science, Stein. I don't see what that has to do with anything. Our investigators turned up nothing at the site. That's why we brought you in."
"All right. You say your investigators turned up nothing. What about the structure of the mine itself? The walls. Was there been breach of the mine walls?"
"No. Nothing like that. You've had access to the vids. If you're suggesting a cave-in or something similar, you're wasting my time. Don't you think we'd considered that possibility?"
Warburg's message was clear. He was rapidly losing patience. Warburg sighed again and then continued. "We've already looked at the logical solutions, Mr. Stein. We're left, therefore, with the illogical." He looked pointedly at Jack before continuing. "So, is there anything else?"
"Okay, Mister Warburg. No, there's nothing else. I think you've told me all I need to know for now. I won't take up any more of your time."
"Good," said Warburg, standing. "You can find your own way out. And I trust that we can expect something a little more concrete by the end of the week."
"Oh, there is one more thing ... "
"Yes. What is it?"
"Can you provide me with the personnel records of the missing crew?"
"Yes, I can't see why not. I'm a little surprised you didn't ask for them earlier. See my executive assistant on the way out. He'll arrange it."
Jack nodded, inwardly cursing himself as he left Warburg's office. The man was right. He hadn't done his groundwork properly. The name of Outreach had lured him in and he'd rushed into it, eager to be the first kid on the block with a contract from the big boys. First things first. He had to learn not to rely so much on things just falling into place.
Still, Warburg had told him more than he expected. His familiarity with the Ouroboros, the slight flicker of his eyes. There was something there. "Some symbol, some archaic mystical sign," had been the words that came so readily to the man's lips. It suggested more than just a passing familiarity. Jack's gut feelings were starting to work overtime.
He asked Warburg's assistant
for the records and the man led him down to another office, this time characterless and unadorned with the trappings of good corporate taste, leaving him with a pudgy administrative clerk.
"The Dairil III crew? Certainly. No problem. If you can bear with me for a few minutes. I'll just upload them to a card for you, once I find them."
The man busied himself with a screen.
"Ah, here we are." He pulled out a card from a nearby stack and slotted it into a recess.
"You're investigating the disappearance. There's no point, you know," he said quietly, without lifting his gaze from the screen.
"What do you mean?" said Jack.
"There's no point. You won't find anything."
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"There’s no 'maybe'," said the clerk. "They don't expect you to find anything."
"What do you mean?"
The clerk glanced around behind Jack then motioned him closer. "I can't talk here. Somewhere we can meet? Tonight?"
Jack fished in his pocket for his own card, but the clerk waved his hand. "No, no cards."
"All right," said Jack. He debated with himself for a moment, but then dismissed his office. Somebody might be keeping tabs on it. "My apartment? Mid 17. 4369."
The clerk nodded, then spoke more loudly. "Here you are, Mister Stein." He handed him the data card. "I think this contains everything you need."
"Thanks," said Jack, pocketing the card. He leaned closer. "But what —?"
The clerk frowned and shook his head. "Later," he whispered, then spoke in a normal voice. "If you just follow the corridor up to the right, that will take you to reception. Good bye, Mister Stein. If you need anything else, you can get in touch via Mister Warburg's executive assistant. Just ask for Gleeson. That's me."
"Um, thanks," said Jack, waiting for something else, but Gleeson had already returned to whatever he was doing.
Jack fingered the data card in his pocket as he walked up the hallway, thinking. Warburg's assistant met him at reception and ushered him out without another word.
So, it seemed that Outreach really was playing him. But why? Why would they want to do that? And yet somehow the clerk, Gleeson, had been almost too convenient. He chewed at the inside of his bottom lip.
He'd just have to wait until the evening to find out.
oOo
He boarded the shuttle along with a group of commuters, all leaving for home from one of the staggered shifts that operated throughout New. He shouldered his way past a group in conversation and settled into a corner seat in his usual favorite spot. He was only half watching the crowd; there was too much on his mind right now.
It had to be more than just luck that the particular clerk — Gleeson, he'd said his name was — should happen to be on duty at the very time Jack showed up to ask for the records. Just too convenient…for Jack. And yet, Warburg had seemed to want to get rid of him as quickly as he could. But he hadn't missed a beat when Jack had asked for the personnel files. Normally companies were a little more sensitive about employee records. Maybe there was something to what the clerk had been saying. And the whole Ouroboros thing ...
Just as the shuttle's doors were about to close, someone forced their way between the closing doors. Jack caught the movement from the corner of his eye. There was nothing unusual about it; people did it all the time, but something about the man seemed familiar in the brief glance he'd snatched between the crowded bodies — something that snagged at his memory, and from not too long ago. Well cut clothes, finally sculpted hair. He strained, trying to catch a glimpse between rocking people as the shuttle passed stop after stop. People boarded. People left. Still he failed to catch proper sight of whoever it was. By the time the shuttle had cleared somewhat, there was no sign of whoever it had been.
"Get a grip, Jack," he muttered to himself. Now he was finding things where there was nothing to find. He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes, running the tips of his fingers over the smooth-edged data card that sat in his pocket.
"Jack! Jack Stein!"
Jack's eyes snapped open. The shuttle had just drawn out from the stop and an emaciated figure was loping down the car toward him. The man was tall and thin. Hollow cheeks and sallow expression heightening his corpse-like appearance. A loose gray coat hung from his bony frame and his big tombstone teeth were grinning as he bore down on Jack's corner seat. Others in the car frowned or looked away uncomfortably as the man passed them. It was no wonder; he bore an almost palpable aura of the unclean. Pinpin Dan — the last person Jack had expected to run into.
Pinpin Dan was another fringe dweller. He had talents for getting into places and things that people didn't want others to have access too. That made him popular in certain sectors of the Locality's community. They'd worked together once or twice when Jack had had need of the man's unique talents.
Jack nodded as Pinpin Dan collapsed into a heap of bones onto the seat next to him.
"So what are you doing up in New, Jack? Slumming it, eh?" Pinpin grinned a feral grin and gave a donkey's bray of a laugh.
It was not only Pinpin's profession that kept him on the fringes. His personal habits and predilections left a lot to be desired.
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Or are we up here wooorking?" He drew the last word out, loading it with special significance, and tapped the side of his nose, looking at Jack knowingly. Lank strands of graying hair plastered to the top of his head barely disguised his mottled scalp. He slumped back into the seat and scanned the other passengers. "So, which one is it?" he whispered. "Who's the subject?"
"No, nothing like that, Pinpin. I just came up here to get a bit of headspace."
"Yes, yes, yes. All right. Be serious with me, dear Jack. You never did have much of a sense of humor. So are you wooorking?"
"I've got a couple of things happening."
"Good, good. Good to hear that you're gainfully employed. And before you ask, you know me — Pinpin Dan never wants for work. So, enough of that. I’m trying to remember when was the last time I had the pleasure of your company. How long has it been? It was ... " He held up long spatulate fingers and started counting. "Ah, never mind. Too long, dear boy. Too long." He grinned.
He scratched at his bony chest and peered around the car, giving a sniff. Jack watched him sidelong. Not only had he forgotten about Pinpin Dan, he'd forgotten how much he disliked the man. Probably why he'd never thought to ask how and when he'd acquired his peculiar name. Also probably why he was reluctant to ask what he was doing here. He'd likely been cruising the park, looking for — no, Jack didn't want to know that. He narrowed his eyes, watching as Pinpin Dan unashamedly scrutinized their fellow passengers, each in turn.
Licking his lips, Pinpin Dan became bored with the car's occupants and turned his attention back to Jack.
"You must come and visit," he said. "Come and see my sumptuous new accommodations. I've moved on since last I had the pleasure of your company." He leered. "It really has been far too long, Jack. I have fond memories of the times we worked together. Now, wait just a minute. Here." He dug around in his coat and slipped Jack an iridescent card. Jack turned it in his fingers, watching the way the light sent shattered colors over the card's surface. "All the details are there. The card's readable too. No need to copy things down. So handy."
Jack slipped the card away. He'd noted the address as he did so — somewhere up in the mid-range section of New. Pinpin Dan was moving up in the world. Somehow, Jack found the idea distasteful. Pinpin leaned closer.
"So, really," he said into Jack's ear. "You can tell me what you're working on. I'm always very interested in what you're up to, Jack."
Jack drew back from the hot fragrant breath in his ear and shook his head. "Not right now," he said.
"Ahhh. Never mind. You always did keep things close to your chest, Jack.” The shuttle slowed and Pinpin glanced up. “Here's my stop anyway."
Pinpin leaned over to grasp Jack's shoulder as he stood, then leaned close.
"Now, you come and see me, Jack. Catch up on old times." He grinned again, all teeth, tainted breath whispering in Jack's face, then loped off down the car. Jack closed his eyes, waiting till the shuttle had pulled out of the stop before opening them again.
Pinpin Dan. Visit Pinpin Dan? Not bloody likely. He fingered the hard edges of the card in his pocket.
It was peculiar running into Pinpin Dan after so long. He did the sums himself. It was well over a year since the last time he'd seen him. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. Things didn't happen by chance to Jack Stein. Coincidence was always loaded. First, his time in the military, then later, events seemed to coalesce around Jack, pushing him in directions he hadn’t expected. People, places, events, chance happenings, all worked together to keep him alive and lucky. There’d been that time out on maneuvers when he’d twisted his ankle on a rock where no rock should be. The rest of the squad had gone on, leaving him sitting, cursing his own stupidity. Three minutes later, the point man, the one who had taken over from Jack, stepped on a mine, taking out half of the squad. After that, he’d been more aware of the sorts of coincidences that happened around Jack Stein. A chance meeting was invariably more than simple chance.
He’d be in a bar, just at the right time to overhear a conversation. He’d run into someone who would point him to someone else who just happened to be the key to solving a particular set of problems. The thing was, it always happened to Jack, not anyone else. As he became more aware, he started noticing patterns in his dreams. At first, he thought he was imagining things, the old déjà vue syndrome, but slowly, somewhat reluctantly, he realized that it was more than that, that Jack Stein was somehow different. He told no one about the dreams, but people had started to notice his peculiar prescience. Of course he denied it, even to himself at first until he could do so no longer, but things stacked up. Then he’d started to pay attention to the strange uncomfortable feelings that worked deep in his guts, warning him that something wasn’t right.
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