by M. D. Cooper
CHAPTER TWENTY
STELLAR DATE: 05.12.8941 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Heliopolis, Ithaca
REGION: Troy, New Canaan System
Isa flew her aircar high over Heliopolis, skirting the city’s edge. The route wasn’t the most direct from her home on the coast, but she was taking it because she was considering adding the cityscape to her gallery’s installations.
She also admitted to herself that she’d decided to take the indirect course because she was delaying her return to her gallery. She didn’t feel like seeing the destruction the drill had wrought in the full light of day. She’d left the place quickly the previous evening, too tired and dismayed to properly assess the damage after the drill was over. Then Martin and Erin’s argument that morning had put the seal on her unhappiness. Going in to work in order to begin the cleanup was the logical thing to do, yet it was hard to face it all.
Isa’s gaze drifted over the sea of white buildings, which glared almost painfully bright in the morning sunlight. She recorded what she saw as she flew, though half-heartedly.
Up until then, all her art creations had been entirely natural landscapes. She was uncertain whether a cityscape would work, though cities had their beauty too, especially the ones in New Canaan. All the system’s metropolises had been planned for aesthetic as well as utilitarian purposes.
Some, like Heliopolis, had been heavily inspired by cities of ancient Earth. From what Isa understood, there had been places on humanity’s home planet that had developed an intrinsic charm and grace over hundreds of years of building and rebuilding. Other cities in New Canaan were based upon the principles of pleasing design, like the Golden Ratio, and optimum functionality.
Isa frowned as thoughts of Erin and Martin’s fight pushed back into the forefront of her mind. Try as she might, she couldn’t achieve the mental state she needed to do her work. She decided there was no point in flying around aimlessly all morning, vexed by her troubles. She couldn’t fix the antagonism between Erin and Martin; that was their problem. But she could do something about another important area of her life: her business.
She set the aircar on a direct course for the gallery.
As the vehicle set down, the first damage that would require fixing was easy to see. Erin had made a hasty repair to the entrance hatch so that no one would be able to open it, but the jamb and door were bent and fractured. Isa wondered what the Marines had used to bust the thing open. The loud bang that had reverberated through the galley before they stormed the place still remained vivid in her mind.
Isa unlocked the hatch and climbed down to the upper mezzanine. She checked around, but the damage seemed minimal on that floor. Aside from Erin, no one else had been there when the Marines attacked. The troops had passed through, focusing their attention on the first floor, where most of the partygoers had gathered.
The corner of Isa’s lip lifted in a wry grin as she remembered Erin’s plunge from the stairway. Joe’s description of her as an avenging angel had been spot on. Isa had had the surprise of her life when the soldier who had been guarding her and Martin had been felled by a human bomb falling from above. Clearly, the Marines who had passed through the upper mezzanine had figured that one small woman in a dress couldn’t do much harm, but Erin had proven them wrong.
Isa crossed to the lower mezzanine. The damage caused by the troops here was greater. They had scraped a few of the 2D images, and one screen was cracked. Yet even so, the repairs required were minimal. The images were easy to replace, and a new screen would only take a few minutes to install. Having completed her assessment, Isa walked to the elevator and rode it down to the first floor.
On the first floor, the caterers’ automatons had cleared up all the debris from the party, but the wreckage from the mock invasion remained. Some seating had been broken, another of Isa’s screens was cracked, and one of her art displays had been fully smashed.
The piece had been made of wildflowers that she and Jude had picked along the shores of the Black Sea. The preservation technique had retained all their natural color and turgidity so the flowers had looked real, but they hadn’t been rendered robustly enough to withstand the tramping of Marines’ boots.
Isa gazed at the remains. It wasn’t the fact that the art piece had been destroyed that upset her—it was that the work represented her memories of spending time with her son.
Nevermind, Isa told herself, there will be more happy times and more good memories.
Singh shortly announced his arrival, and Isa let him in. After greeting her, he stepped through the doorway, put his hands in his pockets, and strolled along the edge of the room, studying carefully everything he saw. When he reached Isa’s smashed artwork, he paused and tutted.
“What a shame. You’re right. You’re the one who should claim for compensation for your own possessions How much do you think you’ll ask for this?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Isa replied. “It’s hard to estimate the value of any of my pieces. They were never for sale. They only existed to introduce the customers to the moods and concepts of the installations. I don’t think I would part with any of my work no matter what price was offered—I’ve invested too much in them in other ways.”
“You should try to get as much as you can,” Singh said. “I’ve heard the compensation fund is large and the administrators are generous. Personally, I’m hoping to profit considerably from the invasion drill. This isn’t the only property of mine that was targeted. Another place—a meeting hall—was attacked too. I just came from there. The damage was considerable.” He gave her a wink.
“I wouldn’t be comfortable with applying for more compensation than is fair.”
“Do you think everyone else isn’t going to exaggerate their claims?” asked Singh. “I’m sorry, but that’s naive. It’s standard practice to claim more than you’ll pay in repairs and replacements. That way, when the administrators reduce your payment, you end up with the amount you really deserve. Besides, Troy will secede soon. After that happens, we won’t be able to benefit from the system’s funds, so we might as well grab as much as we can now.”
Isa was aghast at her landlord’s mercenary attitude. Her expression must have shown her feelings, for he turned quickly away from her and resumed his journey around the room, as if he felt a little ashamed. But Isa was also curious about Singh’s other statement.
“Do you really think that Troy will secede soon?” she asked.
His comment didn’t seem to make much sense. A parliamentary election had taken place only a few months prior, and the party that had run on a secession agenda had lost. Despite the noisy rallies, Isa had impression that most Trojans were not behind the idea.
“Yes,” said Singh. “I do. I can’t elaborate on how I know, but, between you and me, it would be wise for you and your family to be prepared.”
“Prepared? In what way? Are you saying we should leave?”
Isa couldn’t imagine herself, Martin, or Erin uprooting again after such a short time on Troy.
Singh had progressed to the opposite side of the space. His slight form was dwarfed by the wall that stretched all the way up to the narrow, rectangular windows of the third story. He faced Isa and spoke across the length of the room.
“I’m not advi
sing you one way or the other. But the time to decide whether you’re a Trojan or a New Canaanite is coming soon. Whatever you think that decision might be, you and your family should act in accordance with your long-term interests. If you don’t believe in Troy’s independence, living here will quickly become uncomfortable.”
Singh resumed his inspection, leaving Isa in silence while she chewed on his words.
A few moments later, he said, “Ah, now look at this scrape.” He indicated an area of the wall. Isa couldn’t see any damage from the distance she was at, so the mark was either faint or non-existent.
“Disgraceful,” Singh continued. “This may require this section of wall to be replaced.”
* * * * *
Sickened by her landlord’s attitude and worried about what the future held for her family, Isa hurried Singh through his inspection and left her gallery not long after he had finally departed. Surveying the aftereffects of the drill had depressed her. She needed a change of scenery and some exercise.
Isa had spent so much time working on her enterprise since arriving in Troy that she hadn’t spent any time in the capital’s streets. She felt like they would be a good place to just hang out and do nothing, which was exactly what she needed. She was also wondering if Singh been bullshitting her with his ominous warnings.
Is Heliopolis on the verge of some kind of uprising? Or did I misunderstand what Singh meant, and something even more sinister is going on?
She didn’t know the man very well. It was possible he was only being a dramatic scaremonger. On the other hand, she’d about several demonstrations, and one had taken place directly outside her gallery. If what Singh was implying was true, he was right in that she, Erin, and Martin had a hard decision to make, and soon.
Isa walked along the sidewalk outside her gallery, unsure where she should go. Heliopolis was full of interesting narrow alleyways and tiny shops, as well as wide plazas decorated with frescos under awnings that were unusually colorful compared to the generically white buildings.
In the end, it was the pinnacle on the skyline that captured her attention. The spike was visible from all parts of the city. Isa knew that the structure rose from Troy’s Government House, but she had never been there.
Using the point as a guide, she headed in its direction. On her way, Isa passed all the usual places she expected to see in any capital in New Canaan: bars and cafes, sim centers, sports facilities, body modding clinics, parks and gardens, speciality food vendors, and autocab stations. People seemed to be going about their business normally; she didn’t detect a mood of discontent or restlessness. Life went on as usual. But then what did unrest in a population look like to the casual observer?
When she reached the avenue that led toward Troy’s parliament, she paused for a moment to take in the building’s majestic appearance. The sight caused her to forget her troubles for a short time and return to her earlier speculation on whether she should create a cityscape installation. She could do a lot with such a magnificent structure.
Isa snapped herself out of her reflection. She might not be running a gallery on Troy at all in the near future.
She continued to walk down the long avenue, the afternoon sun beating down on her bare head. As soon as she’d taken a quick look around the government buildings, she would return to the gallery and make her modest and honest claim for damages. Then she would fly home. Perhaps Martin and Jude were already there.
The thought of Martin reminded her once again of the fight he’d had with Erin that morning. Isa had always been aware how easy it would be for her two strong-willed, opinionated spouses to fall out with each other, and it had finally happened. Suddenly, the prospect of returning home didn’t seem so inviting.
By the time Isa reached the imposing mirrored spiral of Troy’s parliament, she was gloomy again. On both a public and personal level, everything around her seemed to be falling apart. Why was everyone so determined to be discontent?
Isa wandered under the overhanging upper stories of Government House, where it was shady and cool. She halted and looked upward. The rows of floors, each larger than the one below, rose away into the sky. At the structure’s base stood the transparent walls of its first floor. Isa looked inside at the lobby where visitors, tourists, workers, and maybe some politicians mingled.
What caught her attention, and caused her to wonder about the planet’s future even further, was the presence of so many guards.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STELLAR DATE: 05.18.8941 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Marine Park, Ithaca
REGION: Troy, New Canaan System
The octopuses were misbehaving and—for some reason that Martin hadn’t figured out—dealing with them had become his responsibility. He didn’t relish the task, but it meant he would be out of the labs for a while and the opportunity appealed to him. Ever since the invasion drill a week ago, he’d been out of sorts. He was angry with Erin, angry with himself, angry with everything, and having to work with Lindsey and the others at the lab every day didn’t help.
As he piloted the single-seater submersible in the direction of the octopuses’ area, Martin recalled the garden they’d created. It was a nice spot that visitors to the park would love, and he decided he should be careful not to antagonize the creatures. Uplifted octopuses might be total pains in the ass a lot of the time, but they also had plenty to offer. With the opening of the marine park only a few weeks away, it would a shame to lose them.
Lindsey had already laid down the law with the creatures. They weren’t in the marine park under duress. They could leave whenever they wanted, but if they wanted to stay, they had to behave.
Martin suspected that the real reason the octopuses fooled around so much was because they thrived on the mayhem they caused, and they loved the attention they received whenever someone turned up to scold them.
When he had crossed about three-quarters of the Sea of Marmara, he began to see the complex, beautiful pattern of marine plants, colorful rocks and shells, and sculpted sand of the octopuses’ garden. It was surprising how similar the place was to a human garden. Had the creatures been copying designs they’d searched for on the Link? Or were their aesthetic preferences another example of convergent evolution, like octopus and vertebrate eyes?
Either way, the octopuses designing their spot to be exactly how they liked it was a feature, not a bug. It was their habit of leaping out on unsuspecting visitors, ‘cuddling’ them, and then squirting ink everywhere before zooming away that was the problem.
So far, only Pietr and Lindsey had fallen victim to the prank. Martin had to make the creatures understand that while the park technicians might find their antics amusing, regular tourists would not. He had to make them promise to lay off. He doubted he would get through to the creatures, but Lindsey had asked him to try.
Martin guided the submersible over the garden, heading toward the kelp forest. Peering over the side of his vessel and all around, he couldn’t see a single octopus. Nothing but plant life was moving, wafting in the wash of the water so close to the shore. The octopuses’ prey animals like crabs and molluscs were conspicuously and predictably absent too. Like last time he’d been there, the place appeared to be deserted. But there was no doubt they were there somewhere.
Octopuses were masters of disguise. Without specialized equipment, Martin couldn’t distinguish them from the seaweed, rocks, sand, and pebbles, even with his modded eyes. Somewhere, they were hiding, watching, and waiting.
A huge piece of the sea floor shifted and detached. Turning brown-grey and eight-limbed, it flew toward Martin. Instinctively, he tried to escape, but he didn’t stand a chance. In another moment, the octopus had wrapped itself around his submersible. All he could see was the pink-fleshed underside of octopus arms, thick with wide suckers. The creature was very large, around six meters from tip to tip.
Probably Enteroctopus dofleini, Martin guessed.
d.
The octopus’s arms shifted, sending the suckers sliding over the submersible’s shell. The creature was extremely strong. Though the submersible’s engine was still running, the vessel wasn’t making any progress.
Martin turned it off. It looked like he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. At least he would have a good story to tell at dinner that night. Then he remembered the state of things at home.
Maybe not.
It was a surprisingly human name. The few uplifted octopuses Martin had encountered had given themselves names that were unpronounceable.
He was determined not to ask the creature to release him. That would be playing right into its hands, or suckers. If Martin knew the character of octopuses, Xavier probably loved to tease his captives. The more boring Martin was, the quicker the octopus would decide he wasn’t any fun and would release him. Then Martin would give Xavier a stern talking to.
The silent impasse stretched out until Xavier was finally the one who cracked.
The creature seemed to think highly of itself. Martin figured a little flattery wouldn’t go amiss.
Darn it, Martin thought. The conversation wasn’t going how he’d intended.