The concourse door opened, and Lyvia waited for a man and two women to leave before stepping through the archway. The local subtrans train had cars that looked to be the same dimensions as the regional subtrans, but the seats, if made of the same material, were slightly smaller and definitely closer together.
Since the car wasn’t crowded, Roget sat across from Lyvia. “What about the agent on the other side of the world?”
“I haven’t heard anything. I wouldn’t. Not for a while. I’m assigned to you.”
“What have you learned from me?”
“You’re comparatively perceptive and well-integrated with your internal monitors and sensors.” Lyvia’s voice was low, barely carrying to Roget. “You represent a dangerous but passively aggressive culture that is looking for an excuse that will allow itself to justify an attack against Dubiety on almost any grounds. You’re not entirely in sympathy with your own culture’s objectives, and you were sent on this mission because your superiors feel that you need to understand the danger we represent and because if you don’t return, the difficulty posed by the combination of your abilities and attitude will be resolved. If you do return, they will find some way to discredit or retire you. Or they might promote you to a comfortable but meaningless and powerless position.”
“You’re so encouraging.”
“You asked.” Lyvia glanced toward the doors as the train came to a stop.
One woman who had been sitting at the end of the car left. No one entered.
Neither Lyvia nor Roget spoke again until the train made the third stop.
“This is where we leave,” said Lyvia.
Roget followed her out onto a nearly empty concourse and then up a tunnel ramp. About fifty meters up the ramp, the tunnel split, with a maroon tunnel curving to the left away from the standard gray and green tunnel. Lyvia took the maroon tunnel, and Roget kept pace with her. None of the half-dozen other passengers followed them.
“There aren’t any signs or indications,” Roget said.
“Haven’t you noticed? We don’t use them, except for places like restaurants in public spaces.”
Roget hadn’t, but as he thought about it, he realized that he hadn’t seen any, except for the restaurants around the main square of Skeptos, and not even all of those had borne signs.
“Anyone who’s linked to the commnet can find out where they want to go,” Lyvia continued. “Posting signage is another waste of resources.”
“I suppose everyone is linked.”
“All except very young children and those few who have proven untrustworthy.”
“And foreign agents.”
“You’re presumed untrustworthy. I don’t think that’s an unfair presumption, do you?” She smiled as she spoke.
“No. I can’t dispute that.”
After a less than ninety degree turn, the tunnel straightened, stretching ahead for what looked to be a good quarter klick.
“Do you people walk everywhere that the subtrans doesn’t go?”
“Yes, except for people who are temporarily disabled. They can use individual powerchairs.”
Before long, Roget saw an archway on the right side of the tunnel. As they walked nearer, a couple appeared and walked toward them at a good clip. They smiled and nodded as they passed. Roget returned the smile. “Are we taking the archway?”
“Yes. That’s the entrance to CPInd.”
Beyond the archway, outlined in maroon, was a narrower corridor that ended after twenty-odd meters at a shimmering metal composite door. Lyvia pointed her belt-tube. After a moment, the door split into two halves, each retracting into the wall. As soon as they were inside the squarish and empty chamber, the doors closed behind them.
Before Roget could say more, a door to his left opened, and a tall woman in a flowing red skirt and a skin-tight, black, short-sleeved top stepped through.
The angular woman studied Roget, then turned to Lyvia and spoke. “There isn’t that much to see. The constitutors are sealed processors.”
That was what Roget thought she said.
“He’ll get an idea.” Lyvia turned to him. “Did you understand her?”
“Something about not seeing much because the units are sealed?”
“Good. I told you it wouldn’t take long.”
Something about her tone bothered Roget, but he couldn’t have said why.
They followed their guide down another ramp and out into a massive enclosed space, one large enough to hold several attack corvettes, Roget suspected. The constitutors, if that happened to be what they were, were shaped like rough half cylinders with annular rings set at unequal intervals, and with various large protuberances in other places. Each rose a good twenty meters above the floor and looked to be fifteen meters wide and a good hundred meters long. There were five, set side by side, with ten meters between each. At the far end of the chamber at the output end of each cylinder was a maglev freight car, one end opened and swung up. Two men guided the sheets of composite into the car.
Roget walked slowly along the side of the constitutor. Again, he could sense no energy emissions. Nor did he feel any heat radiating from the enormous machine.
Lyvia said nothing as he came to a stop near the end and watched the loading process.
Large as the chamber seemed at first sight, Roget realized that it was but a fraction the size of the works he’d seen outside Parachute years earlier—and far cleaner. The output rate was far greater as well.
Finally, he turned. “How do you do it?”
“It’s standard molecular reassembly. Each unit handles a different type.”
“You have, what, three of these for the planet?”
“Five actually, but one is always on standby.”
Roget glanced back at the loading area as a freight maglev glided away, only to be replaced by another.
“Have you seen enough? There’s not much else to see.”
“How many people work here?”
Lyvia looked to the angular woman.
“Sixty-seven. Most are loaders.”
“Why do you need human loaders?”
“They work better, and they’re more flexible. Also, composite is hard on scanning perceptors.”
“Why?”
The woman just shrugged.
Roget asked more questions, but most of the answers he got were either meaningless or consisted of shrugs.
“We need to go,” Lyvia finally said. She turned to the woman. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure and interest.”
Once they were outside CPInd, Lyvia stepped through the maroon archway and turned right.
“We’re not headed back toward the subtrans.”
“No. We’re going to take a private tube to MultOp.”
“Is it subsurface as well?”
“Of course. When you insist that everything is underground and below much of the water table, it becomes easier to assure that there aren’t any harmful emissions. We also insist on unified ventilation systems.”
“So that the supervisors and owners breathe what everyone else does?”
“It works better that way.”
“They could just move their administrative functions elsewhere.”
“They could, but there’s a heavy surtax on nonintegrated facilities, and that makes it hard to compete and stay in business.”
“Do you people charge for everything you don’t like?”
“No. Just those things that would otherwise harm people and the environment.”
“What if people pay to pollute?”
“Some have. They haven’t stayed in business long. They lost customers and employees because they had to pay more in production costs and because they had to pay the employees who stayed even more to keep them. Some people don’t like buying from polluters, especially when their goods cost more.”
The next archway from the maroon tunnel was on the left, and it was a bluish gray. After taking a short ramp and a left turn, Roget and Lyvia found
themselves in a small concourse. The doors to a car that might hold twenty people were open. Once they stepped inside the private subtrans, the doors closed. Several minutes later, they opened onto a slightly larger blue gray concourse.
Roget stepped out alongside Lyvia. “What do they make here?”
“Everything. We don’t operate along the old models. Basically, any manufacturer can fabricate anything once they receive the specs. Designers create prototypes or new versions, and all those are available on a royalty basis to any assembler.”
“How does the assembler know if the specs work?”
“There aren’t many single designers. They’re businesses that have a number of designers and engineers. Designing is just part of what they do. They have the responsibility for product design and specifications … and the legal liability for them.”
“So the designer really takes the place of the old multilateral, at least in terms of name identification or make or brand? And legal responsibility?”
Lyvia nodded.
The tour of MultOp was about as useful as the previous tour. Roget saw machines that essentially sprayed matter into predetermined shapes and colors … and functions. The finished products were covered in a thin biofoam and shipped.
As he watched the last stages of loading and shipping, a thought occurred to him, something that he should have picked up earlier. “How does all this get delivered? People can’t cart dining tables or anything else large home on the subtrans.”
“There are freightways under the walkways in all towns and cities. Intelligent lorries take goods to the various buildings, or to common points in those places that allow individual dwellings. You can rent a delivery vehicle as needed, and some manufacturers or designers include local transport rental in the price.” She rubbed her forehead. “You look hungry. I know I am. I’ll answer any more questions you have about the day while we’re eating. There’s no place that’s all that good out here. Do you mind if we head back to Skeptos?”
“No. How far south are we?”
“Twenty-one klicks.”
Neither spoke except in pleasantries and short comments on the way back to Skeptos, but Roget did keep listening to the others on the regular subtrans train, which was far more crowded than it had been earlier. He was definitely understanding more, just enough to be even more frustrated.
Lyvia picked another restaurant within four blocks of the central square, except to the northeast. Classica was the almost invisible name on the tinted glass. Unlike Dorinique, it was small, and the decor was spare, with white plaster–finished walls and pale blue tile flooring. The table linens were a blue so deep that it was almost black.
Roget sank into the chair across from Lyvia. He was more than happy to order another lager, along with a chicken and broccoli feta pie and a Mediterranean salad. His eyes were burning slightly, but he didn’t know whether that was some allergic reaction or just because he’d been straining to see and pick up anything that he could.
Once the lager arrived, he took several swallows before speaking. “What’s the point of all this?”
“All what?”
“You show me around Skeptos. You give me a general idea of how your society works, but no details and no real information. If you intend to let me report back to the Federation, no one will believe me because I can only provide generality after generality and my own unsupported observations and calculations. If you don’t intend to let me return, why bother? I’ll either be dead, or I’ll have plenty of time to learn.”
“In time, and that will not be that long, we will provide you with proof. Proof that even senior security officers should find convincing.”
Two salads appeared. Roget took a bite, discovering that the brownish olives not only had pits, but were strong and salty. Still, the tangy bite of the salad was refreshing.
“What’s the nature of that proof?”
“We’ll send you off with a certain amount of documentation.”
“You know the dropboat is in no shape to lift off, and that would be so even if Dubiety didn’t have orbital shields.”
“That has also been considered.” Lyvia didn’t look up from her salad. “You will return.”
The certainty in her voice wasn’t totally reassuring.
As soon as they finished their salads, the server took the plates away and presented their entrées.
Roget had no trouble eating every bite of the creamy chicken and broccoli sandwiched between baked phyllo sheets. As he waited for Lyvia to finish her skewers and rice, he ventured another inquiry. “I’ve just assumed … but do you have traditional marriages here?”
Lyvia frowned. “We have marriages and civil contracts and people who live together without either, and people who live alone. Some relationships are what you’d call traditional, and some aren’t. We don’t apply any stigma or prohibition to same-sex unions, if that’s what you mean. All couples are treated the same. We do apply certain restrictions on those situations where more than two adults are involved in a relationship. History has shown such multiple unions do have a tendency not to carry their own weight in society.”
“Restrictions? Such as?”
“If someone in that kind of relationship decides to have a child, someone has to post an educational and support bond.”
“If they don’t…”
“They can terminate the pregnancy, or they can be relocated into a situation where they can both work and have the child.”
“Even you can’t make everything work through economics.”
“No … but mostly personal economics work. Some people always require the force of the state to behave and not to take criminal advantage of others.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” replied Lydia with an amused smile.
“Are you in some sort of … arrangement?”
“I have a partner. She and I have a daughter.”
That explained more than a few things, Roget thought, including Lyvia’s ease in maintaining a professional relationship and the very light fragrance that she used.
“Most arrangements here are still heterosexual,” she went on. “That’s the way human genes usually operate.” Lyvia stood, stifling a yawn. “I’d like to get home to see Aylicia.”
“Then you should.” Roget slipped from his chair.
They walked toward the front of Classica, and along the way Lyvia paid the bill with her belt-tube.
Once outside, Roget asked, “What about tomorrow?”
“I’ll have to see what we can work out. I’ll meet you for breakfast, the same as today.”
Lyvia said little as she walked with him back to his guesthouse, and while Roget knew he should be finding out more, he discovered that he was too tired to press the issue. When he did reach his quarters, his feet ached, as did his shoulders. The shoulder pain had to be from the tension he’d only been peripherally aware of—at least, that was what he hoped.
But how could he not be tense when it was getting clearer and clearer that both the Federation and Dubiety were trying to use him? How could Dubiety be so aware of the Federation without the converse being true? Unless … Dubiety was more advanced than he’d even thought. Yet, if that were so, then the casual attitude of the colonel made no sense, unless he happened to be so arrogant that he and the Federation could not believe any splinter human culture might have surpassed Federation technology.
Roget could see permutations upon permutations.
Finally, he downloaded a duplicate of Hildegarde in the Sunlight to the quarters’ system, amazed that the system actually accepted his flash memory, then adjusted the projection to the wall opposite the sofa. The dachshund he’d seen through the window the night before had reminded him. He sat down and looked at the familiar image of Hildegarde on the blue velvet sofa. He smiled.
“You’ve been in a lot of places, little girl,” he murmured. “I’m not certain that you haven’t learned more than I have. Especially here.”
> Hildegarde just continued to look at him expectantly, and that was fine with Roget as he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to let his thoughts clear.
16
24 LIANYU 6744 F. E.
Roget stood in the high-roofed chamber. He glanced around but didn’t recognize it … and yet, in some way, he did. There were small dark wooden desks arranged in a tiered semicircle. Most of the desks were occupied, primarily by men. A considerable proportion of those in the chamber were white haired. The ceiling was high and domed, and there were murals painted on the lower levels of the dome, just above the gallery where only a few people sat, looking down.
Why couldn’t he make out the subjects of the murals? The light wasn’t as bright as it could have been, but his eyesight was better than that. He squinted. It didn’t help.
“A point of order has been raised against the motion to consider the amendment.” The words boomed from somewhere, amplified.
Roget glanced toward the front of the dais opposite the middle of the tiered desk. A heavyset man with jowls sat at the single desk. He was the one who had spoken. Above and behind him on the wall was a large seal that featured an eagle. One claw held stylized thunderbolts. The other held some sort of branch.
“The amendment is germane. Under the rules, any amendment that references a specific clause in the bill…”
Roget’s eyes flicked around the chamber. For some reason, he felt light-headed, and he put out a hand to steady himself on the nearest desk.
“Are you all right, Senator?” The young man who asked the question wore a dark jacket with a silver emblem in the lapel.
Something about the coat nagged at Roget. He couldn’t say why. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man moved away, as if relieved.
His feet seemed to turn him, and Roget found himself walking out of the chamber along an aisle between the evenly spaced desks. None of those at the desks looked up at him as he passed. Two women made a point of looking away.
He walked through an empty reception chamber or anteroom and then out a long colonnaded hall into another area where arched steel door frames were flanked by men in unfamiliar dark blue uniforms. He took the narrow exit space and made his way outside the building, where he stood between two massive marble columns at the top of a wide set of marble steps. Beyond the columns where he stood stretched others, holding up a long marble pediment above him. Below him stretched wide marble steps that descended and descended, finally ending at a wide concrete sidewalk.
Haze and the Hammer of Darkness Page 14