"But I don't know the password."
"Enter password," it said again.
Jack's fingers wouldn't work. They were stiff, cold. He tried to key something, anything, but his fingers wouldn't obey.
The colors changed. Slowly an image formed. It was the symbol — the all-too-familiar symbol — a snake biting its own tail.
"Enter password," said the voice.
"Ouroboros," said Jack.
The colors disappeared. The symbol disappeared.
A deep vibration echoed through the landscape, and then the handipad grew. It grew larger and larger. The display expanded, swallowing his head, swallowing his body.
Jack was drawn, down, down, down, inexorably into shimmering blackness.
oOo
Damn. That was all he needed. He sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his temples. The White-Haired Man was clearly linked. He wouldn’t keep appearing otherwise. Of course, he might not actually be anybody. He might not be a man at all, but the image was clear enough for Jack to suspect that he was. He was vaguely reminiscent of Pinpin Dan, but different. Very different. It couldn’t be Pinpin Dan himself, could it? No. He didn’t think so. The disparity was too evident, even in a dream.
He sat for a few moments, playing with the pictures, transposing himself as the various figures and components of the dream, an old technique he’d learned to search for hidden meaning. He saw himself as the White-Haired Man, but there was nothing there, then as the handipad itself. Neither revealed anything. No, Jack Stein was Jack Stein, in the dream and out of it.
This had never happened before, this dream overlap. His first dream about the White-Haired Man had taken place before meeting Gleeson. And the dream about the White-Haired Man was unprompted — no inducer pads, no physical object to act as a trigger. It had just occurred.
He pushed himself to his feet and went to retrieve his own handipad from the living area. Perhaps the clue was there in the vids he'd downloaded from the company records and he'd simply missed it.
His shin connected with the edge of something hard in the darkness and he crashed to the ground with a curse.
"Lights!" he spat out, massaging his leg. As he blinked against the glare, he gave the coffee table an accusing look. Stupid. In his half-awake state, he'd forgotten that he'd reprogrammed the living area during the night. Bored and frustrated, he'd rearranged the furniture, often a good displacement activity to help clear his head. The coffee table that used to live across the other side of the room had regrown itself halfway across the floor space, right in the way of where he was used to walking in the darkness of sleepless nights.
He struggled to his feet and hobbled across to the shelves. He was awake now. Pain was a good awakener. The handipad was where he'd left it, but so was the one Gleeson had left. He hesitated for a moment, then took the other one from the shelf, hobbled back to the couch and sat. Handipad in one hand, he used the other to keep massaging his shin as he ran through last evening's meeting.
He'd told Gleeson that he had some things to attend to in the morning, but that wasn't strictly true. He's just wanted some space to think. Too many threads were pulling from different directions. Leaving the rapidly forming bruise on his leg, he turned his attention back to the handipad. He knew deep down in his guts that there was a connection. He flipped the handipad open and thumbed it into life.
A blank screen, and then, just as before, the request to enter a password. It was too much to hope for, but he keyed in the word all the same. Nothing. Then he tried a few more — snake, serpent, other variants. Still nothing. He killed the handipad with a sigh and sat back. If he could locate the owner of the device, he might be able to work out how it was tied in.
There was only one sure way to get past the password without finding the owner that Jack knew, and he didn't like the thought one bit.
Pinpin Dan.
It always worked like that — a chance meeting, an unexpected occurrence — and suddenly significance attached itself to whatever had happened. Threads tying themselves one to the other, even without Jack’s help. This time the web was already feeling a little too close for comfort. He just hoped Pinpin Dan wasn't the spider.
With another deep sigh and a shake of his head, Jack went to make himself some coffee, leaving the handipad where it lay.
Once he'd kick-started his brain — coffee was always good for that, high caffeine, rich and bitter, the waking ritual, rather than the stims he used for bursts of focused concentration when he was on a heavy case — he dressed hurriedly, retrieved his own handipad from where he'd left it the previous evening and slotted Pinpin Dan's card in.
Of course, it meant that Pinpin Dan would be able to contact him on a whim at any time, but you had to take the good with the bad. As soon as the data was loaded, he flipped the card onto the coffee table, retrieved the other handipad from the couch and shoved it deep into his pocket. He’d dispose of the card later. He was almost ready. He keyed the sequence for contact.
Pinpin Dan's feral features floated onto the display.
"Jack. So soon, and so eeeearly? What an unexpected surprise. And of cooourse a pleasure, my boy."
Jack glanced at the wall display. It wasn’t that early. "Hey, Pinpin. I need to come and see you."
"One would almost believe in the fates, dear boy. You're lucky you caught me. I have to go out for an hour or so, but I should be available after that. I see you have the address."
Jack looked at the wall display again. 8:45. An hour or so. That should give him time to get up there, maybe grab another coffee once he'd arrived, see Pinpin Dan and still leave himself plenty of time to meet up with Gleeson.
"Yeah fine. I'll see you at your apartment in about an hour and a half."
"I gather this is moooore than a social call, Jack."
"Uh-huh. I'll tell you about it when I see you."
"I look forward to it."
Jack killed the connection and looked around the room trying to remember if he'd forgotten anything.
Yes of course. He turned to the wall. "Download last recording," he said. Gleeson's address.
"Download complete."
He checked the display. Gleeson lived not too far from where Pinpin had his apartment, maybe three shuttle stops at most. That was handy. It was also another point worth noting. How come a modest Outreach clerk lived in a district like that? He filed the thought away for later.
He closed his handipad into his right pocket and patted it gently. Although the two were slightly different, he didn't want to confuse them, did he?
FIVE
Pinpin Dan really had come up in the world. The address led Jack to a tall glossy apartment building at the Mid end of New. Last time he'd had cause to visit Pinpin Dan's place, he had been living in the demolition end of Old. Whatever the man was into, it was paying off. Jack looked up at the building, unable to help the sour expression that climbed across his face. There just wasn't any justice. The rainbow sky on the ceiling panels above the building did little to improve his mood.
On the 10th floor, he checked the address. This was the place all right. Thick piled pseudo floor had muffled his steps all along the corridor, and the place was clean, clean. The building probably had its own still-functioning cleaning routines. This far beyond Mid, even in the New end of Mid, that wasn’t a surprise. That Pinpin Dan would be in a place like this, that was the surprise. No justice. Definitely no justice.
He rang and waited.
The door opened and a youthful face peered out, short blond hair cut close around her ivory-skinned face. Wide blue eyes looked up at him. The girl must have been all of fifteen. Sweet face, but there was something hard about it too.
"Yes?"
"Jack Stein. I'm here to see Pinpin Dan."
The girl nodded and left him standing there. So, Pinpin Dan's tastes had changed none. Jack pursed his lips. He could act as judge and jury, but for now, just right now, circumstance didn't permit him the luxury. One day, Pinpin Dan would ge
t what was coming to him, but it wasn’t about to be today. Moments later the girl reappeared.
"This way." She stood back and let Jack enter, then walked lightly off down a wide hallway, beckoning him to follow.
Pinpin Dan's apartment was enormous. The walls were done out in plush purple, black edging at top and bottom. Pale gray, thick carpet ran the length of the hall. At least six large doorways led off from the hallway, but the girl continued on, leading him all the way to the end, opened another door, and stood back, allowing Jack to enter.
Pinpin Dan sprawled across a large white couch in the room's center. Before him sat a wide, low table, two tall oriental vases filled with ostentatious dried flower arrangements almost masking him from view. In the table's center stood a sculpture — two naked boys writhing together, their lean muscled bodies slick and shiny, catching the light as they moved. Jack dragged his gaze away from the piece and back to Pinpin.
"So, Jack, dear boy. Welcome. Welcome. You found me all right. What do you think of the new accommodations?" He brayed as he waved his hand about the room.
"Yes, Pinpin. Very nice I'm sure, but I'm really not here to discuss your decor."
"Oh, dear Jack. I'm hurt. Always sooo serious. Such a shame. Now, I see you've already met Wilhelmina, or Billie, as she prefers to be called. Can't stand abbreviated names myself, but there’s no telling her." He sighed. "Nonetheless, Wilhelmina, will you see to some tea please?" The girl nodded and slipped out of the room. "She shows promise that one," said Pinpin, watching her lithe, slim frame as she disappeared up the hallway. "Bright, so very bright. And a real talent for the wooork."
Jack didn't really want to think about what other talents Wilhelmina might have.
"So, now. Find yourself a spot to sit and we can discuss what it is you've come to see me about."
Jack found a thick padded armchair to one side where he had an unobscured view of Pinpin and could avoid looking at the mobile sculpture. The damn thing was too distracting.
"This," he said and slid the handipad across the table.
Pinpin leaned forward and retrieved the device, turning it over and over in his bony fingers. "What's the problem?" he said, suddenly all businesslike.
"Passworded. I need to get into it."
"Hmm. Not yours I presume."
"No, but I need to find out whose."
Pinpin flipped it open and thumbed it into life. "Yes, I see." He poked at the keys, concentrating. "And how did you come by it? Or should I not ask."
"Unimportant. How long will you need?"
"Oh, no more than an hour or so. Getting into it won't be the problem. Finding out who it belongs to may be a little more difficult."
He was interrupted by the reappearance of Wilhelmina, carrying a tray with two steaming oriental designed cups. She placed one in front of each of them, then stood back holding the tray in front of her.
"Wilhelmina, thank you. Now go and find something to do." The girl nodded again and left them. Pinpin's followed her longingly with his gaze. "Now where weeere we?" he said, half-distracted, finally returning his attention to the device. The scent of fragrant tea drifted up from the cups, almost too sweet.
"Yes, it may be a little more difficult to locate the owner, but normally I would expect the handipad to be linked to the home system. I can trace the connection if one exists. Otherwise, there may be some clue in the contents. Of course, I'm not promising anything, but I think I might be able to do something. You know me, Jack."
"I'd appreciate it."
"We'll work out exactly how much you appreciate it later," said Pinpin, glancing up, a calculating look in his eye.
“Oh, and about the contents…I’d appreciate not having them appear on the open market any time soon if there’s anything there.”
Pinpin sighed. "Yes. All right. Soooo, untrusting, dear boy. But for now, you can tell me what this is all about, Jack. The fact that you've come across a locked handipad, however you happened to come by it, intrigues me slightly."
"You know better than that," said Jack flatly.
Pinpin grinned. "No harm in trying, Jack. Now is there?" He lifted his cup and sipped delicately before placing it down. "When do you want it?"
"I have something to do. Should take me no more than a couple of hours. It's not far from here. I can call in on the way back. I’m in a bit of a hurry on this one."
"Fine, Jack. Fine. Leave it with me. I’m sure that how much of a hurry you’re in will be reflected in our later discussions." Pinpin placed the handipad carefully back down on the table and looked at it thoughtfully. "Wilhelmina, my dear," he called. "Show Jack out for me, then come back in here. We have some wooork to do."
The girl reappeared and led Jack up the hallway, leaving Pinpin Dan poring over the device in front of him. Pinpin had gone into work mode. Jack had seen that look of concentration before.
"Bye," said the girl at the doorway.
"Goodbye," said Jack. He thought about saying something else, wondered briefly about what words he might use, but decided against it. There was nothing he really could say.
oOo
Gleeson's apartment building was far more modest than Pinpin Dan’s, but still in the good end of the district. There were no signs of the powdery, flaky look that buildings got as they crept toward the high end of Old, and the inside was still clean, untarnished. The nearer things got to the demolition end of Old, the place where the Locality’s structure consumed them back into the never-ending cycle, the first traces of age and decay started showing. Smooth outer surfaces lost their color, faded. If you brushed against them, a fine dust adhered to your hands and clothes. Metallic surfaces grew smudged and stained. There was none of that here. Not like his own place. Gleeson couldn’t be making that much more than he was. Jack made his way to the door, rang and waited. Moments later, the little clerk ushered him in nervously.
"I haven't got long," Gleeson said. "What can I show you?"
"Have you come up with anything yet?" Jack asked, standing just inside the doorway trying to get an impression of the apartment. Usually he could sense something from a place, but this time the area was uncharacteristically devoid of any impressions. It was almost as if there hadn’t really been anyone there for some length of time.
"No, no. Not yet. I told you it wasn't that easy. I have to be careful."
"Yes, of course." Jack would have thought Gleeson's eagerness to find out what had happened to his partner might prompt him into some action by now. It appeared that Gleeson was more cautious than he'd thought. Either that, or the perceived danger was more real than Jack had suspected.
"Did you share this place with Gilbert?" he asked. "I mean, did Gilbert live here for any length of time."
"Oh yes. Between contracts. He’d always have several months back before he went out again. Would you like to see his room? He uses it as his office, or just when he wants some space."
"Lead the way."
Gleeson led him to a modestly appointed room, nothing out of the ordinary. A bed, furniture integral to the walls and floors. There were no bright colors, nothing obtrusive. If anything, it felt unlived in, almost like the apartment. It could nearly be a room ready for someone to move in. That might make sense though if this Ronschke was only in residence between assignments. Jack had no idea how much time the miner might actually spend in here, even if he was back for months at a time. A shelf unit held various objects laid out in neat lines.
"What are those?" asked Jack, pointing to them.
"Souvenirs mainly. Gil used to bring back something from each place he worked." He moved closer to the shelf and touched his finger to one or two of the objects, shards of rock, a crystal, a piece of pottery. "I can tell you about them if you want."
"No, that won't be necessary. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t."
Jack moved to the room's center and closed his eyes, trying to feel what lay in the room. The impressions were vague, nothing defined. He used this approach rarely, but his curre
nt options were limited. Normally, he didn’t need to force the sensations. They’d just come to him.
He had to have something to work with. Finally, something sparked in his abdomen — he felt a pull. He opened his eyes and moved toward the shelves. Gleeson was watching him curiously.
"What's this?" Jack asked him, reaching for a small, deep-blue bottle.
"I'm not sure. I think this came from somewhere nearby, a construction site near the Locality or something. Gil never said much about it."
So, why should it be special? Jack had no doubt that the bottle was what had sparked the feeling in him. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was something old, he could see that. The glass was pitted around the edge, and a patina of whiteness speckled one side at the lip. Yeah, it was old, or made to look old. The blue was deep, intense, a color he rarely saw.
"Do you mind if I borrow it?"
"No. Whatever you need."
"Good. I'll return it, of course. Can you take it out of here for the moment? I want to see if there's anything else."
He handed the bottle to Gleeson and moved back to the room's center as Gleeson left and then reappeared, minus the bottle. He wasn’t concerned about Gleeson touching it. If the two were co-habiting, then Gleeson’s own presence should be all over the place, including Ronschke’s stuff. Eyes closed again, stilling himself, Jack reached out. There was still the pull from the bottle, but duller now, further away. He tried to ignore it and work on the rest of the room's contents. Blank. There was nothing else. That was peculiar in itself. Usually, there'd be at least some sign of a room's occupant, at least the barest trace, something to signify that someone lived here. It was a strange sensation, almost like a taste, but something to occurred deep in his guts and the back of his head.
Maybe it was because Ronschke only spent short spells here. It took time for a person's presence to build an impression. Eventually, even after a few months, that too decayed. Everything in the Locality decayed, Jack thought to himself, even those things that supposedly didn’t really exist. He gave himself a wry smile.
Wyrmhole: Jack Stein #1 New Edition Page 5