Absorption: Ragnarok v. 1 (Ragnarock 1)

by John Meaney

  ‘All arrivals at Barleysugar Spiral are being deepscanned by peacekeepers. ’

  Mum sucked in air, then bit her lip.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right with me,’ said Dad.

  ‘If you’ve nothing to hide.’

  ‘I don’t, in fact.’

  ‘I mean absolutely nothing at any level, no subterfuge of any kind. Nothing to show up using the new scanners they’re deploying in public for the first time.’

  Dad looked very calm.

  ‘Designed to counteract all known subversion and shielding methods,’ Xavier Spalding went on. ‘And since my folk had some involvement with the design, I’m rather proud of it.’

  ‘So why tell me?’

  ‘Well . . . Hello over there, Roger. Alisha seems fond of you.’

  ‘Er, hello, sir.’

  ‘Call me Xavier. And allow me to present you with a gift, Carl. And my respects to you, Mrs Blackstone.’

  Dad blinked.

  ‘Received. Thank—’

  ‘Endit.’

  Mum said: ‘What has he sent you, Carl?’

  ‘Full schematics and in-house control codes for developers.’

  ‘The scanner design,’ said Roger, ‘but not the shieldware?’

  ‘Perhaps they never coded any.’

  ‘So do we go back to Varlan’s place?’

  ‘No. Let’s not compromise him further.’

  ‘But if they deepscan us for real’ - Mum glanced up to her right, envisioning consequences - ‘they’ll suspect Varlan too.’

  ‘No, it’s okay.’ A complex three-dimensional tangle of arcs and nodes glowed above Dad’s tu-ring. ‘Our current shieldware can upgrade itself to cope.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No. But I’ll let you know.’

  Mum and Roger stared at each other.

  This is nuts.

  But in a few seconds, Dad was chuckling.

  ‘We got it, folks. The developers’ control codes swung it for us.’

  ‘So—?’

  ‘So let me deploy the deltas to your tu-rings, and we’ll be ready for them.’

  Part of one wall was transparent, revealing black space and the growing orange splendour of Barleysugar Spiral.

  Roger’s tu-ring chimed, acknowledging the upgrade.

  ‘Got it,’ he said, as Mum nodded.

  ‘And now we work on staying calm,’ said Dad.

  They continued to drift towards Barleysugar Spiral.

  Among the uniformed officers was a Luculentus in civilian clothes. His hair was coppery, intertwined with bronze wires, and he introduced himself as Superintendent Sunadomari.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Dad. ‘Is there something going on?’

  ‘We’re just performing extra checks.’ Sunadomari looked at one of the officers, who nodded. ‘And of course you’re fine.’

  Other arrivals, newly disembarked from spaceborne bubble-capsules, were walking through checkpoints as they entered the apex lounge. Some headed for the bars or restaurants, to enjoy the view from space for a while longer; others streamed for the central column, and lined up to wait for a free descent capsule.

  ‘You’re not checking departures?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Actually, we are. Down at the surface, before they enter.’

  ‘Ah. That makes sense, Superintendent.’

  Roger wondered where the new scanners were. From the body language of the officers, the tightening of their muscles when passengers passed through certain locations, he thought the scanners were looped in arches through the quickglass walls and ceiling. Insinuating the scanners inside the architecture was discreet - a smartmiasma would have been more obvious, though only to a minority: those with extended turing functions, and Luculenti.

  ‘You’ve a successful career, Mr Blackstone. I don’t suppose you’ve ever met Dianne O’Mara or Yukiko Kaku?’

  ‘No, I don’t believe so. What’s their line?’

  ‘Lab equipment, mainly, for offworld export.’

  ‘I’ll look out for them.’

  ‘Or Stephanie Argentum?’

  ‘Head of the Silver House?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Um, I talked to her deputy twice for short periods, a couple of years back. I can send you logs of our meetings, if it’s official. One of their subsidiaries hired me for a short project.’

  ‘No need.’ Sunadomari’s eyelid gave the faintest of flickers. ‘Just wondering if we had mutual acquaintances. Please have a pleasant trip home.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Roger followed his parents, knowing they would have seen what he had: Sunadomari accessing private logs while talking to Dad, using peacekeeper privileges. Checking Dad’s story, and fast-viewing the meeting logs.

  This might have been worrying, but as they walked on he could hear the superintendent having a similar conversation with a newly arrived couple, asking about some other acquaintance they might have in common. At certain levels of commerce and society, connected-world thinking applied: on Fulgor, you were rarely more than three ‘handshakes’ removed from any chosen person.

  Their descent through the shaft of Barleysugar Spiral was slow and steady: the capsule lightly scented with roses and playing soft baroque music; their conversation apparently free - wondering what the peacekeepers were up to, and whether there had been a reason for Sunadomari’s particular questions. But their choice of words and tonality - and visual expression - formed an elegant masterpiece of subterfuge, every nuance designed to convince watchers of their innocence.

  Roger’s inward preoccupation would appear natural, he hoped; but no one would guess what he was thinking of: strange half-seen dreams, soundbites from odd conversations, all involving people he knew closely, yet whose names were lost to him.

  Maybe I’m turning psychotic.

  It could happen, though he was careful in his choice of study methods. On Earth, Dad had told him, research on ‘logotropes’, a kind of viral alternative to Luculentus plexwebs, had caused disaster. Their most able designers had fled to the world of Nulapeiron, adopting new identities among the founding colonists, hoping to continue their work. It was one of the few pieces of covert intelligence Dad had shared - dated, but still secret - and it had been to discourage Roger from trying out certain new thoughtware for Fulgidi who were desperate to enhance their minds.

  ‘Mindhacks are dangerous,’ Dad had said. ‘Especially one designed for a different kind of neurophysiology.’

  ‘Meaning an ordinary human.’

  ‘You’re human enough for me, son.’

  Now, in the descending capsule, they were chatting like normal folk; but it was an act, therefore underlining the difference between Roger and his college friends. They would be worrying about academic assignments, granting them an importance that seemed nonsensical to him. Even Alisha, who should find everything easy, seemed tense about her studies.

  His tu-ring chimed, and he accepted the incoming call.

  ‘Hello, Alisha,’ he said.

  Dad raised an eyebrow, clearly visible beyond the virtual head-and-shoulders image of Alisha in Roger’s smartlenses. So Roger had just been thinking of her. It wasn’t as though he thought about her all the time, was it?

  Was it?

  ‘Roger, did you have a nice holiday?’

  ‘It was, um, relaxing. I guess.’ He switched to subvocalizing, as his parents smiled. ‘Is everything all right with you?’

  ‘I guess. I talked to the Luculenta woman, Rafaella Stargonier.’

  ‘Er . . . Right, the one Helsen needs as a guest speaker. How did that go?’

  ‘A bit weird. Wants me to demonstrate my knowledge of the subject. Show her some original research, which she’ll incorporate in the talk with full acknowledgement.’

  ‘That is weird.’

  ‘Actually, it’s the sort of mindgame Luculenti like to play, and it’s her real fee for making the effort to come visit in person.’

  ‘You so don’t need my he
lp in researching anything.’

  ‘I do, even if it’s just someone to talk to. And it’s not just that. My father’s been acting odd, even asked about you. Er . . . I didn’t mean to say that, actually.’

  ‘So you don’t plan everything you say?’

  ‘Hardly. So, do you want to just go for a walk or something when you get back?’

  In his mind’s eye, nothing to do with virtual holos, he saw himself holding hands with her.

  ‘Yes. Let’s do that.’

  A feeling of lightness meant the capsule was slowing; or perhaps it was something to do with the promise of Alisha’s company.

  ‘And if you have any original thoughts on realspace hyperdimensions ’ - her image smiled - ‘I’ll make sure you get a mention, too.’

  ‘All right. Deal. Um . . . We’re just reaching ground level now.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you soon?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Good.’

  Her holo faded. Roger blinked at Dad.

  ‘Just someone I know,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ Dad glanced at Mum. ‘You know my expertise is in diplomacy, don’t you?’

  ‘Er, sure, Dad.’

  ‘So just how is your love life, son?’

  ‘I—’

  Mum laughed, and in a second so did Roger.

  ‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ he said.

  Once on solid ground beneath a clear green sky, they called for separate aircabs: one for Mum and Dad to go straight home, the other for Roger to return directly to Lucis City. They hugged and made smart remarks before climbing into their respective vehicles.

  Then Roger’s aircab ascended, giving him a nice view of the great braided quickglass mass of Barleysugar Spiral reaching straight up through the atmosphere. Seconds later, he was at altitude, speeding towards the city.

  Original thoughts on hyperdimensions?

  He pondered this.

  Is that the way to your heart, Alisha Spalding?

  If it was, then he, Roger Blackstone, had insights other people lacked. Because it was not only Pilots who traversed mu-space - there was one other realspace species who had that capability . . . plus they could manipulate realspace in a way impossible for Pilots. They were part of the reason that Pilots maintained an intelligence service.

  There was a resource right here in Lucis City that could help Alisha, a research institute that was theoretically not secret, but whose lack of public interfaces meant it was hidden away as if invisible. It was only because Dad kept an occasional watch on the place that Roger knew of its existence, dedicated to studying the aliens who no longer kept an embassy on Fulgor, though they once had. At some point they simply stopped coming - removing trade competition for Pilots - for no reason that anyone knew. Well, perhaps intelligence services had secret information, but one thing that was public knowledge was the impenetrability of the aliens’ motives.

  Zajinets were strange.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  EARTH, 2146 AD

  There were going to be repercussions for bringing Sharp back to Earth. Rekka had known that since she first had the idea. In orbit around EM-0036, when the so-called pre-contact team assembled in the passenger hold, her colleagues were eager to meet Sharp - Mary Stelanko, as team leader, was the first to converse with him - but their raised eyebrows and wry faces were a clear signal. Everyone was used to interpreting dry regulations on the ground, in the messiness of real situations. They might be envious of Rekka’s work with Sharp; but they were glad they would not be facing the same bureaucratic grilling.

  Luckily, this ship carried the new delta-bands instead of injecting anaesthetics. It took a few minutes to reconfigure a band for Sharp’s use. His neurology, while not even DNA-BASED, had emergent structural similarities to Terran evolution; and his species slept after a fashion: more like dolphins than humans, shutting down different parts of the brain at different times. It was Rekka who placed the band on his forehead beneath his antlers, as he lay back on a morphed couch big enough to hold him. His amber eyes narrowed to horizontal slits, then closed.

  Then the team lay on their own couches, activated their delta-bands - and woke up in Earth orbit, beginning a gliding descent to Desert One, some thirty kilometres from Tucson Crater. Within minutes they were on the ground, settling before a collection of geodesic buildings. Several vehicles were advancing: big TAVs in UNSA white-and-blue, their thermoacoustic engines whispering.

  One TAV was designated to go straight to the xeno facility. Rekka got in with Sharp, and no one objected. Inside the vehicle, Piotr Poliakov nodded to Rekka while staring at Sharp. Poliakov scarcely glanced at Rekka for the duration of the drive, or their walk - surrounded by UNSA scientists and security - through the air-conditioned corridors, heading for the lab suite they had activated with only minutes’ notice, since the Pilot had informed them from orbit of the extra passenger.

  But not all xenos were new species to be investigated; some familiar entities used the facility as a place to stay when visiting the base, since rooms could be altered to create chemically comfortable environments. Now, two lumpy shapes far bigger than humans were lumbering this way: one formed of red Arizona sandstone, all pebbles and boulders; the other more amorphous, formed of rubbery yellow sulphur (an allotrope, bearing the same relation to the more common powdery form as ozone bears to oxygen), but glistening with inserted quartz, or maybe diamonds.

  Rekka had never seen a Zajinet before, not for real. Of course these two individuals - big, roughly humanoid, but only in outline - were clothed in Terran substances; their naked forms would be glowing lattices of light, usually of one pure frequency: often crimson, the colour of burning strontium; or the green of igniting copper; or occasionally an odd shade of sapphire blue.

  The sulphurous individual clomped past Rekka, Sharp and the others, as if it had not noticed them. But the sandstone figure stopped.

  <>

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  Sharp sniffed, his eyes widening. Perhaps he was going to attempt a reply, but with a grinding noise the Zajinet recommenced its motion and lumbered off, following its sulphurous companion.

  ‘They are strange creatures,’ Rekka said.

  ‘No,’ came the reply from Sharp’s chest speaker.

  Poliakov raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Their cognitive structures,’ he said, ‘evince macroscopic quantum superposition. All known sentients from any world are composite minds, multiple overlapping personalities; but the Zajinets embody the concept in a more literal way. They rarely broadcast anything other than four simultaneous messages, hardly ever comprehensible.’

  Poliakov could work on speaking more clearly himself, in Rekka’s opinion. Sharp did not reply.

  Then Rekka’s infostrand-bracelet beeped.

  ‘McStuart here. Please come to conference room 21-A, Rekka.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Beside her, Sharp emitted a peppermint odour, his analogue of a human chuckle.

  ‘Right away.’ She thumbed her bracelet, ending comms. ‘Sorry, Sharp. Dr Poliakov, you’ll look after my friend, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course. Sharp, I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘You smell sincere,’ said Sharp. ‘Thank you.’

  Poliakov’s smile was open-mouthed, his eyes wide and shining.

  Rekka grinned, clapped Sharp on the arm, then went off to face the bureaucrats.

  After the debriefing, Rekka went to the refectory. It was a long, low-ceilinged canteen bouncing with the energy of conversation from some two hundred engineers, scientists and support staff. A thin man came loping towards her, smiling wide, opening his arms.

  ‘Hey, you.’

  ‘Simon. My God, Simon.’

  They kissed to applause from nearby tables.

  ‘Get a room,’ called someone. ‘Oh, you already have.’
/>   Rekka pulled back. ‘Is that Gwillem?’

  ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’

  ‘Someone should be.’

  Gwillem was heavier than Simon, bearded and with thicker hair on top, but you could tell they were brothers. He came up and clasped his bearish arms around both Rekka and Simon, just for a second.