Daylight on Iron Mountain

by David Wingrove

  Ebert edged alongside him again, reaching out to touch the thing, his gloved hand sinking into the surface a little way.

  ‘This, Jake, is an enzyme.’

  ‘Ah…’

  Jake had done his homework. Enzymes were the biomolecules that catalysed the rate of chemical reactions in the body. Like all catalysts, they worked by lowering the activation energy for a reaction. They were, however, very specific – the keys to biochemistry’s locks, so to speak – and their activity was governed entirely by their shape. They were known to catalyse roughly four thousand different biochemical reactions. In fact, no complex chemical reaction occurred in life without them.

  It was all a long way from stocks and shares. A long way from futures and the markets he had been used to.

  Jake edged back, away from the enzyme, taking in the complex mass of shapes that surrounded it. From a little way back, it looked like a giant explos ion of brightly coloured wood-shavings. Living, pulsing shavings, true, yet the impression stuck. Right now he couldn’t tell it from any other cluster of living shapes, but he would, given time. And not just by its shape. It had, he realized, a very distinct smell.

  Jake smiled. For the first time he felt really positive.

  ‘This is good,’ Ebert murmured. ‘Very good. I can see already how we could use this.’

  He turned, drifting out slightly, gazing towards Jake again, his plain black clothes making him look like a ninja.

  ‘What do you think, Jake? Biochemistry’s very complex. More complex than any market. Do you think this system – this datscape – can handle that order of complexity, or are we going to have to beef it up? Take it to the next level?’

  Jake laughed. ‘You know, I was thinking… the simple act of programming this is going to take forever. But… once it’s done, you won’t have to keep feeding it new information. Just use what’s already stored. And you would be able to be specific about what you used. What you’re looking for, I take it, are things you don’t expect. Reactions you couldn’t have predicted.’

  For the first time that morning, Ebert smiled. It was a frosty smile, as brittle as glass, but a smile all the same.

  ‘That’s precisely what I’m looking for. The unexpected. Not the usual metabolic pathways, but whole new ones. Things we can then go on to use commercially.’

  ‘Then you have your answer already. This, good as it is, would be totally inadequate. Think about it. You’re planning to map out biochemistry itself. To put every last tiny bit of it in the mix. For that you’re going to have to take this system apart and refashion it. You’ve got to make it a lot more subtle; to make it a much more accurate reflection of reality. Yes, that’s right. Reality. Only giant size. Reality you can walk around and through, yes?’

  Ebert nodded. His eyes were glowing now as he looked at Jake. ‘That’s precisely what I want. And you’ll help me get that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Jake looked back at the complex shape that hung there pulsing before his eyes, and smiled. ‘You know what? I’d forgotten what a high this was.’

  Prince Ch’eng I was twenty-two and, being the fifth son of the Head of Minor Family, he was to have a grand ball that evening to celebrate his betrothal to the beautiful Princess Teng Liang, with only the elite of the elite invited.

  Ch’eng I’s father, Ch’eng So Yuan, was not a real prince. His ancestors had not even been aristocrats. But they had been high-ranking members of the Chinese Communist Party, and in the final years of their power, when they had made the deal with Tsao Ch’un that had spelt the end of their own kind, he had granted them the title. He let them keep their accumulated wealth while offering them protection from the common law that ruled all other citizens. They were thus a special class, affluent and refined, but powerless, like winged drones on the hottest day of summer.

  Powerless, yet still influential.

  Ch’eng So Yuan was an avuncular big man, well-liked among his own class. That in itself was unusual, for there were many camps within the court and many potential reasons therefore for disliking such a high-ranking prince as he. Nevertheless, he was liked, partly because he never carried a grudge and partly because he gave the best parties in the whole of Chung Kuo. Parties that went on for days. Legendary parties, famous for their debauchery.

  Of camps something should be said. How many? More than a dozen but less than fifty was the informed guess, but only four of them really mattered, and everyone, it seemed, was a member of at least one.

  That morning, even as Prince Ch’eng I stood at his mirror trying to decide whether to wear the peach silk or the turquoise, Lahm was stepping down from the jet-black Ministry craft, walking out onto the windswept landing pad. He smiled and then bowed respectfully to Ch’eng I’s father, who stood just across from him.

  Ch’eng So Yuan smiled, then returned the bow.

  ‘Tobias… I am so glad you could come, dear friend. How are you?’

  Lahm embraced the older man, then stepped back. ‘I am well, Prince Ch’eng. I still get the headaches, but…’

  Ch’eng So Yuan nodded, as if he understood, then turned, indicating that they should go inside.

  Leiyang, Prince Ch’eng’s palace, was not as impressive as Tongjiang, nor was it anything like as large, but it was outside. That was another thing the Minor Families shared with Tsao Ch’un, Shepherd and the Seven – the right to live outside the City’s walls. Less than two li from where they stood, the City rose from the plain, running clear into the distance where, in the east, at the extremity of vision, one could see the peaks of the Lo Hsiao Shan, misted in the dawn’s light.

  ‘I’m glad you came early,’ Prince Ch’eng said, as they walked slowly down the path that threaded its way through the water gardens. ‘I wanted to talk to you. About the project.’

  Lahm nodded. The comment seemed vague, but Lahm knew precisely which project Prince Ch’eng meant. He was talking about the clones. About GenSyn’s attempts to breed viable human copies.

  Not ‘breed’, Lahm corrected himself in his head. Grow.

  ‘I’ve set aside an hour for our discussions.’

  ‘An hour?’ Lahm was surprised. Particularly on a day like today, when all manner of things needed to be attended to. ‘Just you and I?’

  ‘And a few close friends…’

  ‘Ah…’ Other princes, he means. Members of his so-called ‘golden brotherhood’. All of them hoping to benefit in some way from this.

  ‘But first… breakfast. You haven’t eaten, I take it?’

  Lahm smiled, letting the big man put an arm familiarly about his shoulders, smelling the scent of peppermint on his breath.

  ‘Breakfast would be good, Prince Ch’eng. I have the appetite of a fox.’

  Halfway around the world it was night. In the grand suite of the Jefferson Hotel, two men were sat playing wei ch’i on a carved oak board.

  The game was halfway through, but already it was decided.

  ‘Do you want to play on?’ Jiang Lei asked, smiling, knowing for a certainty now that he was beaten. ‘It seems… how should I put it… fairly obvious that you’ve won.’

  Shepherd looked up from the board and returned the smile. ‘I was thinking,’ he said.

  ‘Thinking?’

  ‘About the next phase of the campaign. I think we should switch things. Do the unexpected.’

  ‘Which would be?’

  ‘To establish a new bridgehead, on the north-western seaboard. Three separate armies. Vancouver, Seattle and Portland. We take those cities and spread out, linking up to form a single block, from the Pacific to the Rockies.’

  Jiang sat back a little, the game forgotten. ‘Why the change of plan?’

  ‘To allow us to consolidate, here in the east. And to keep things fresh. Our men need a challenge. And a change of air.’

  ‘Let me think about it…’

  ‘Fine. But not for too long. Chung Kuo’s public expects…’

  Jiang Lei looked down, not seeing the board, staring
instead at the map in his head. It made good sense to change things about. To slow things down here and distract their enemies with a new front. And they did need to consolidate. There’d been an increase in acts of terrorism this last month, so that too needed to be dealt with. But three separate armies…

  As if reading his mind, Amos answered him. ‘Three separate attacks will make it far harder for them to call on their neighbours for assistance. It’ll mean they’ll be watching their backs, looking to see whether the others are still fighting on or have capitulated. In short, it’ll put the shits up them. Three new bridgeheads… they won’t be expecting that.’

  Jiang Lei nodded. He could almost sense the despair in his enemies’ camps. Their time was up and they knew it. Even so, they were determined to fight on. To the last man.

  ‘Okay,’ Jiang said, after a moment. ‘But one alteration to your scheme. We send a force inland. To Spokane. A fourth bridgehead, to which the other three might link. While the others are fighting their way inland, that fourth force could push inward from the east. We could squeeze our enemies between them.’

  Shepherd smiled. ‘A good old-fashioned pincer movement, eh? I like it, Jiang. It’ll put the pressure on. We could drive them south. Imagine it… refugees flooding California from the north as well as the east. It’ll stretch them thin, see if it doesn’t!’

  Jiang Lei nodded. Only he wasn’t smiling now. He was thinking of the suffering this new phase would create. Of all the families driven from their homes, and their young men dying by the hundred thousand. And for what?

  For the idea of America.

  ‘Okay,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s what we’ll do. I’ll notify Tsao Ch’un.’

  ‘P’eng Chuan… how delightful to see you…’

  The great hall at Leiyang was packed. So much silk and jewellery had not been seen for many a year.

  Lahm bowed as P’eng joined their circle.

  ‘Master Lahm…’

  P’eng Chuan was no friend of Lahm’s. As Sixth Dragon in the Ministry, he was nominally Lahm’s superior. What’s more, he was connected. His wife was a Minor Family princess and two of his brothers had married similarly. But it was his nephew, P’eng K’ai-chih, who was the thorn in Lahm’s side, for P’eng was looking to get his brother’s boy elected in Lahm’s place. He was using his family’s considerable wealth and influence to try to prise it from Lahm’s grasp.

  P’eng looked about him at the others, then addressed Lahm again, his manner sneering, arrogant.

  ‘I’m told GenSyn are having problems with their latest project, Master Lahm.’

  Lahm bristled. It was not the kind of thing one said at such a gathering. The arsehole clearly meant to provoke him.

  ‘Really?’ he answered, smiling, as if at a friend. ‘How so?’

  ‘The man they’ve hired… one of yours, I’m told… has proved too old, too slow… all rather a waste of time, neh, cousin?’

  Lahm looked down. It was outrageous! To discuss his business, out in the open! What did P’eng mean by this? Besides, it wasn’t true. Not if what Wu Chi had said was so. And why shouldn’t it be?

  ‘Forgive me, P’eng Chuan, but I fear your source is quite mistaken. Things are well. Master Ebert is now involved and—’

  P’eng interrupted him brutally. ‘I think you’ve backed a dud, Master Lahm. It’s Ebert’s money, I know, but if I were him…’

  He made a gesture of pulling the plug. The others in the circle laughed.

  Lahm took a long breath, then met P’eng’s eyes again. ‘But you are not him… fortunately…’ He bowed, then stepped away. ‘Forgive me, ch’un tzu, but—’

  Again P’eng interrupted. ‘And the suits… immersion suits, I believe they’re called… old, worn-out technology…’

  Lahm checked himself. P’eng had a reason for this. He wanted to draw Lahm into an argument. Wanted him to make a scene.

  ‘Another time, P’eng Chuan,’ he said, with an air of great civility. ‘Why don’t you come and see me. I would be glad to talk of such matters.’

  P’eng watched him bow, then bowed in return. ‘Time will tell, neh, Master Lahm? Time will tell.’

  As Lahm made his way across the crowded hall, looking for Ch’eng So Yuan, so the Sixth Dragon’s words took on the shape of a threat.

  You’re up to something, you bastard. You and your agents.

  Should he warn Ebert? Or was he just being paranoid?

  Later, he told himself. I’ll speak to him later.

  As for P’eng Chuan, the man could fuck himself, long and hard.

  ‘Kurt… slow things down. One-tenth speed… and Kurt?’

  ‘Yes, Jake?’

  ‘Cut the sound. All but the discreet channel. I’ll lift my arm and wave when we need to be retrieved.’

  Jake smiled to himself. He knew Kurt hated being out of touch. He was one of those Chief Techs who liked to talk everything through. It reassured him. But Jake wanted to concentrate, and how could he do that with the Chief Tech’s voice in his ear all the time?

  Besides, harsh as it was, what Gustav had said earlier was right. They really could do with a new Chief Tech. Someone who could juggle things a lot better than Kurt did. Someone with a lot more mental agility.

  Jake turned slowly. Now that they had fine-tuned it, it was like being in free fall, a non-gravity environment. But that would have to change, because gravity was yet another of those factors they couldn’t rule out. It existed in the outside world, so it had to be in here, too.

  Only he liked this. Liked how it made him feel.

  Ebert was on the far side of the giant bio-morph, checking to see if it mapped. Making sure they had left nothing out. Jake could see the bottom of his legs, drifting beneath the outrageous shape.

  He made to speak, then realized that Kurt had closed the channels down already. It was silent in the datscape – eerily silent.

  At one-tenth speed, the pulse within the living cells was slow now – more a gradual change of colour than a pulse.

  Slow it down some more and you’ll be able to see the precise nature of each chemical reaction.

  Which is just what Gustav wanted, and the reason why he spent half of his time now inside the immersion.

  Jake smiled. For all his coldness, he liked Gustav Ebert. Liked the purity of the man, his obsessive streak. Ebert wasn’t one for half measures. When he went for something, he went for it hook, line and sinker.

  Which was why, only two hours back, he had allocated a further billion yuan to the project.

  The figure staggered Jake. After all, what was this but some kind of super-toy?

  That was unfair, of course, because who knew what seeing biochemical reactions like this might do? And if a man as outrageously talented as Gustav Ebert thought it might work – might stimulate whole new branches of study – then who was he to argue? He was just a web-dancer, after all.

  Right now Ebert was very still, watching something very carefully. Jake had not been with him inside that often, but he knew how still he went when he was concentrating. Like he was hibernating, his burning eyes the only sign of life.

  Slowly Jake drifted round, following a lazy curve that arced behind Ebert’s back.

  This one was like a giant jellyfish, its skin thick and translucent, threads of ever-changing red and blue running through it.

  He and Ebert had talked it all through, earlier. Of the need to have two or three, maybe even a dozen of these datscapes up and running, with teams of experts, each specializing in some separate branch of biochemistry, working the immersions.

  It was a huge commitment. A massive investment of time and money.

  GenSyn could afford it. Of course they could.

  Only it’s a gamble. A huge fucking gamble.

  Ebert knew that too. He’d said as much to his brother.

  Wolfgang Ebert was the cautious one of the two, the businessman, but after a gruelling four-hour meeting, even he was convinced. This could well be the future, and GenS
yn couldn’t afford not to invest in it.

  Jake opened the discreet channel.

  ‘Is it all there?’

  Gustav made the slightest movement. For a moment he didn’t answer, then he gave a little grunt. ‘I don’t know. Something’s missing. Something’s nagging at me, but I don’t know what.’

  The bio-morph was incredibly complex. Much more complex than the enzyme they had studied days before. It was one of Gustav’s experimental biomechanisms, an adaptation of the Hox gene clusters which were found in the genes of creatures with segmented body plans. They were a universal thing, so Gustav said, but he had given them a tweak or two to make them specific. He claimed that he was trying to reinvent evolution by coming up with different answers to common biochemical questions.

  Only something was missing.

  He drifted level with Ebert, studying the huge, glaucous object that hung there. He couldn’t read it. Not yet. It would probably be months before he could. Only that wasn’t the point. He was here to train up those who could. To turn budding young biochemists into athletes – the gymnasts of the datscape.

  There was the faintest flicker, to his left.

  Jake turned his head to look. A delay. He felt it. Like grit beneath a sliding door, hampering its movement.

  ‘Gustav…?’

  The sudden surge jolted him. The whole datscape pulsed.

  Jake made to lift his arm. Couldn’t.

  Cut the fucking thing now!

  He felt the left arm of his suit go numb, the left side of his body, down to the hip. Jake tried to speak, but that too was shut down.

  The fucking suit’s malfunctioning!

  It couldn’t be. They’d had it checked out. Debugged it.

  There was another flicker. Faint, barely noticeable. And then the power surged through him again, like a burning in his veins.

  Oh, shit!

  He blacked out. When he came to there was a chatter in his head, Kurt’s voice close to panic. Across from him two black-suited techs part jerked, part swam towards him, their movements awkward.

  Jake sniffed. Nothing. He couldn’t smell a thing. But his skin felt strangely dry. It tingled, like he’d been too long under the ultraviolet.