Principles of Angels

by Jaine Fenn

  Taro followed Keron, trying not to trip over anything, past a couple of curtained doorways, then round a corner; the next opening had a solid door instead of a curtain. A stocky woman with a face like she was sucking on a bone was bending down locking the door. ‘Hey, watch it!’ she barked when they nearly ran into her. Taro had an idea he’d seen her earlier, sitting at a table somewhere. He smiled at her. She should chill out, join the party.

  She smiled back, but Keron shook his head at her. ‘He ain’t fer yer.’

  The woman grabbed Taro’s crotch. ‘I dunno, Keron, I’d say there’s plenty fer everyone here.’ Taro wriggled obligingly. Sex: now that was a top prime idea. If he felt this good now, imagine how good he’d feel when—

  Keron pulled him away, though not before his breeches had got a lot tighter.

  ‘Can’t I just—?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  Keron led him past the door to the next opening, which was covered by a red mesh curtain. He pulled the curtain aside. ‘In ya go, Taro,’ he said. ‘Jus’ do whatever the lady wants.’

  The room was small, no floor-gap, and empty save for a grubby mattress. A woman lay in the middle of the mattress, half under a thin blanket. She was arse-ugly, and one arm and one leg were withered, twisted as a meatbaby’s. Sweet incense burned on a shelf next to the lamp, though underneath it Taro smelled something like rotten meat. She glanced at his face before her gaze dropped to his groin. Her face fell into a sucked-in grin. Taro grinned back, even though she wasn’t looking at his face any more. She held out her arms and he fell onto the mattress next to her and started to struggle out of his breeches; he preferred the first one they’d met, but right now he wasn’t feeling all that fussy.

  She batted him away and muttered, ‘With yer mouth first, boy. Take yer time.’

  He wriggled down the bed and obeyed. She tasted dry and sour and his cock protested at being ignored, but this was what she wanted and he was going to give it to her. He was good at this, he knew he was. Sex was his salvation. There’d been other stuff, some time in the past, bad, painful stuff, but in the end the path of the grind was the way and the truth. Give pleasure, obey and be happy.

  After a while she had him move up and mount her, warning him to be careful of her dodgy leg. There were some scary sights on the way, but then he was in her and she was laughing and pushing back against him and he had the rhythm she wanted almost at once and he moved the way he knew she’d love and she did, she did, she did. She gave a short yelp, squeezing him between her thighs and he thought he’d come too, only he didn’t, he stayed right up there near the peak.

  ‘Aye there, boy, that’s prime, top prime,’ she breathed into his ear. ‘Now, again.’ He obliged, but this time he couldn’t hold it in any longer and he came like the City was falling round his ears.

  It was the best ever. Nothing else mattered. This was what life was for.

  After he was spent she had him withdraw and work her again with his fingers and mouth. He was getting a little tired now, but finally she pushed him away and sat up, saying, ‘Enough, boy.’

  She wiped herself off with a rag and started getting dressed. Taro lounged on the mattress, at peace with the world. He was a little worried that he might have to move at some point, as his legs appeared to have stopped working, but really, if he died right now that wouldn’t be so bad.

  At the curtain the woman turned and said, ‘That was good, boy. I’ll ask fer you again. What’s yer name?’

  ‘Taro,’ he said dreamily.

  After she’d gone he curled up on his side. He was just slipping away to an even happier place when he felt someone shake his shoulder.

  ‘Can’t sleep ’ere, Taro.’

  Keron helped him up. He still felt good, but somewhere at the back of his head the beginnings of a killer headache had begun to sidle in. Limnel passed them as Keron led him back to the whores’ sleeping room.

  ‘How’d he do?’ the gang-boss asked.

  ‘Quality, boss. She loved him.’

  ‘Prime.’

  Limnel turned to Taro. He raised a hand and took one of Taro’s braids. Taro let him. Why not? Limnel wasn’t such a smoky boss to work for.

  He teased out a strand of red cord from the braid, twisting it between his fingers. ‘Ya know what, Taro? I think we’re gonna get along just fine.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It had been a busy morning and Ando Meraint was looking forward to getting out of the office for lunch, but when the door chime went he decided to check the cameras anyway. If he was going to make enough money to keep up with his darling wife’s gambling habit and still send his daughters to a decent school on one of the better Kheshi habitats, he needed to stay open to every opportunity.

  His cameras showed a mature, striking-looking woman at the foot of the stairs. She wasn’t wearing City colours and she was dressed with a level of taste rare outside the State Quarter. Meraint pressed the buzzer to let her in.

  The woman was paler and taller than most Kheshi. Her clothes were expensive and she wore her light-brown hair plaited and piled elaborately round her head. His scanners hadn’t picked up any weapons on her, not even a knife. She wore an expression of calm determination.

  Ando Meraint found it paid to work out what people wanted and give it to them, and he extended this to treating people the way he thought they wanted to be treated. So he met her at the door, showed her in and offered her refreshments.

  She accepted the courtesy of being shown to her seat graciously, but refused the drink. ‘I’d like to get straight down to business, Sirrah Meraint, if that’s all right with you.’ Her accent confirmed she wasn’t local.

  He settled down behind his desk. ‘Of course, medame. How may I help you?’

  ‘I understand that you find, filter and collate information.’

  ‘That’s one way of describing infobroking, yes.’ A very succinct way, in fact. He called up the basic price-list. ‘You’ll see the services and associated charges displayed on the flatscreen set into the desk in front of you.’

  She scanned the screen, pressed her lips together, then said, ‘I hope you won’t think me rude, but I have to ask: in a City without rules, where information is freely available, what precisely would I be paying for?

  ‘A reasonable question. Firstly, it is a common misconception that the Three Cities have no rules. For example, the statutes of the Concord are both explicitly stated and rigidly enforced.’

  ‘I know, I’ve read them. I found them surprisingly dry reading, considering the process they regulate.’

  Her tone conveyed a mixture of distaste and unease. Meraint concluded that she was either doing a good job of affecting disapproval, or else she was one of those rare visitors who was not attracted by the idea of a democracy by assassination - which was one thing he had in common with her. ‘I must agree, medame. However, I was about to add that whilst the Concord has little direct effect on most people’s lives, other regulations do exist. Visitors can sometimes find themselves subject to fines or private lawsuits without even realising they have transgressed.’

  ‘I can imagine. But you haven’t answered my original question. If the information is there for the taking, just what is your role?’

  ‘My service pulls together all publicly available data. I also have access to various private systems. Searches on some of these are included in the price, though certain specialist ones may cost a little more.’

  ‘What about surveillance?’ she asked. ‘I have seen no evidence of it, yet I assume we are all being watched and recorded. Would you be able to access surveillance data?’

  Meraint was revising his opinion of her as the conversation progressed. Beneath her calm exterior, this woman was cautious, thorough and more than a little nervous.

  ‘There is some centrally regulated surveillance, but most recording devices are installed by the owners of the premises they are intended to protect. Accessing private surveillance footage would be an example of an extra e
xpense.’

  ‘I see. And can I be assured of your confidentiality?’

  ‘Entirely. The fact that some of my customers would be operating outside the law on other worlds makes the system self-regulating with regards to the sanctity of data. For certain clients, a breach of trust could have consequences far more unpleasant than merely being taken to court.’

  She looked a little alarmed at that and Meraint cursed himself for frightening her when he was actually trying to impress her.

  She thought for a few moments, then nodded. ‘All right. I think I understand what I’ll be paying for.’ She traced down the list with a manicured forefinger. ‘So would a “full search” give me all the information known on a person, including that not publicly available?’

  ‘That is correct. Everything on record about them, sorted and arranged according to the criteria chosen by the client: personal, financial, business, whatever you choose.’

  ‘The person I need to find is not listed on the public com system.’

  ‘Ah. You are sure they are in the City?’

  ‘I believe so. But they may have bought a new ID.’

  ‘That does happen. However, if the information is available, a full search will root it out - hence the higher price.’

  She looked mildly taken aback at his reference to money. ‘I will spend whatever is necessary, Sirrah Meraint,’ she said firmly.

  That was what he liked to hear. ‘Of course - and you will find my charges very competitive. As is standard in our business, fifty per cent is payable up front, the remainder on successful completion. Now, if you would just like to place your cred-bracelet over the reader?’

  The bracelet held only a moderate balance, but that just showed she wasn’t stupid enough to carry excess credit. As she withdrew her wrist her glance fell on the holo-pic on the stand beside his screen: his twin daughters, Shiana and Jialle, walking through the Zoo last year. Shiana, always the practical one, had a finger lifted to point to something out of shot, while Jialle’s mouth was open in a silent oohh! of delight. The picture held her gaze and she stopped, her hand still half-extended.

  Meraint cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Medame Reen.’

  Her mask of calm dropped and Meraint glimpsed a flash of panic in her eyes. Then she sat back, her expression returning to one of polite interest. ‘Of course. Your credit reader displayed my name. I’m still getting used to these things.’

  ‘That is correct.’ She must come from a pretty unsophisticated world. Though he avoided dwelling on the motives of his clients, he suspected this one was not after information for personal gain, which made a pleasant change. ‘The City does take a little getting used to,’ he admitted.

  She allowed herself a smile. ‘You could say that.’ She paused for a moment, then continued, ‘I—This is going to sound a bit odd, but I did wonder, when you addressed me by name, whether you had recognised me.’

  ‘No, I can’t say I did. Should I have?’ Yes, that was an odd question.

  ‘Actually I’m here to perform, but my area is very much a niche interest, so I would have been quite surprised if you had heard of me.’

  That explained it. He was going to have to disappoint her. ‘No, I’m afraid I was just taking your ID details from my reader, nothing more.’

  Far from looking disappointed, she looked positively relieved. ‘I suppose you’ll need some more details from me. For the search.’

  He smiled. ‘Firstly, a name.’

  ‘Lia Reen. Her name is Lia Reen.’

  His client flushed slightly as she said the name. Same surname, too. It looked like this was a personal matter - a long-lost child, perhaps, which might explain her reaction to the picture of his children. ‘Is that L-I-A?’

  She nodded. ‘And Reen like me.’

  ‘I’ll need some basic search parameters to get us started. Is she a visitor, or a City resident?’

  ‘A visitor - she came to the City six or seven years ago. I’m not even sure if she’s still here.’ She looked down at her hands; her earlier bravado appeared to be deserting her.

  Meraint kept his tone light, trying to put her at ease. ‘That’ll give us somewhere to start, at least. Is there anything else you could give me? Age, nationality, stuff like that.’

  ‘I have a picture. Here.’ From her bag she produced a flatscreen head-and-shoulders of a young woman, standing outside, presumably somewhere on Medame Reen’s homeworld. She wore a green cape, and strands of dark hair poked out from under a broad-brimmed hat. Both hat and cape were covered in tiny beads of moisture - rain, presumably. An open sky full of purple-grey clouds was visible over her shoulder. The girl had pale skin and delicate features, with sharp cheekbones, a slightly pointed chin and a small, sensual mouth. Her eyes were dark and mesmerising. Meraint thought it a memorable, beautiful face, but somehow disconcerting, as though she were far older than her appearance suggested. She looked nothing like the woman sitting in front of him.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Do you mind if I scan this in?’

  ‘No, of course not, if it will help find her.’

  He placed the picture under his image reader. It beeped and he handed the picture back. ‘Facial matches can be difficult, but I’ll put requests into the public image libraries if we don’t get anywhere immediately. She looks to be in her late teens in this picture.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She made no move to narrow down his guess; talking about the girl was making his client uncomfortable.

  ‘So she would be in her mid-twenties now. And her nationality? ’

  ‘She would almost certainly have had a Khathryn passport.’

  ‘Khathryn? Right. Let’s see what we can find.’ He started a couple of basic searches using his desk keypad; he always preferred the confidentiality of using a keypad over the ease of voice commands. After all, if his clients knew where to look and how to perform the searches, he’d soon put himself out of a job.

  Medame Reen sat quietly while the initial searches returned several ‘not found’ results. Unlike some clients, she did not believe he would get results more quickly with someone leaning over him asking if he had anything yet. After a couple of minutes the possible matches started coming in.

  ‘Aha, here we are. Or perhaps not. There was a Lia Reen here during the time window you’ve given me but she was in her eighties and was visiting from Luorna City. And another . . . no again; this was a forty-year-old woman, recently sex-altered, homeworld listed as Pasture, one of the Yazil orbitals.’

  A red warning light flashed in the corner of the screen.

  Elarn Reen, looking at him again, must have seen his expression change. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Probably nothing. Just a glitch. Corrupt data perhaps.’ He hoped.

  ‘Please, Sirrah Meraint, what exactly is the problem?’ She clasped the arms of the chair and leaned across the desk, trying to see the screen, not that the information would mean much to her; he always used on-screen encryption to discourage client curiosity.

  He tried to keep his tone light. ‘Looks like I’ve just activated an archival flag. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Meaning that the data is there but has been archived, presumably? ’

  ‘Yes. Probably.’ Or that there was a trace on it and his software was trying to deflect the trace into archived records. But the client didn’t need to know that.

  ‘You don’t sound sure, Sirrah Meraint.’

  ‘This kind of data generally stays live for at least a decade before archival. It must have been transferred accidentally.’

  ‘Is that common?’

  He considered lying, but he preferred to stick to the truth where possible. It made things simpler. ‘Not really.’

  ‘But presumably even if it has been archived you can get it back?’

  He’d been distracted by trying to reassure her but now he turned back to the screen. The warning light blinked out, replaced by a message that indicated there were no further matches for the search criteria. It lo
oked like it had been a trace; fortunately his software had been up to re-routing it. ‘Not in this case, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh. Is it possible the records were deleted?’

  ‘In theory, yes, but unlikely. The City systems run regular archival sweeps, but as far as I know, nothing is ever physically deleted. We record ID details and credit balances for every visitor, and that’s not the kind of data we just discard. I’m sorry. Given that I haven’t found anything, there won’t be any further charge for the service.’ He just hoped there wouldn’t be any unforeseen consequences. The fact that his software had come up with a ‘not found’ message implied the information had either never existed or it had been deleted. So why the trace?