Waking Hell

by Al Robertson

  The man’s silence was unnerving.

  ‘I mean – all this money. I need to know where it came from. What it really means. What you want from him in return.’

  Her target stepped past her and set off again. Leila sighed. Perhaps she was just embarrassing herself. But he hadn’t denied anything. And he was such a perfect match with the man from the hospital. A moment and she caught him again, just as he was about to turn a corner into a main street, taking his arm as firmly as the waiter had taken hers. He was fully weave-enabled, and so he felt her grip and turned to face her.

  ‘I’m a fetch. I can follow you anywhere. If I have to, I’ll jump to keep up with you.’ She hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff. ‘I won’t let you just walk away. Please, talk to me.’

  The antique cut of his suit triggered memories. She’d flicked through entire catalogues of clothes like that when she was little, fascinated by the adult sophistication they projected. Remembering that made her feel awkward, like a child lost in an adult world.

  She decided to go on the offensive.

  ‘You were watching me in the café. And when you saw that I’d spotted you, you fled. If you’re following me like that – well, something’s up.’ Adrenaline coursed through her. She felt her skull face shift in the back of her mind, a weapon woken by her excitement and worry. ‘I need to know what Deodatus is. What my brother’s got us into.’

  He leant forward and opened his mouth. His lips moved, but there was barely any sound – just a soft, distant buzzing.

  ‘Oh gods,’ she thought to herself. Perhaps he was handicapped. What if he really had nothing to do with it all? She leant forward, straining to hear him. Maybe she was the one who needed to apologise. His lips were still moving. A little closer and there would be words. She thought of the buzzing voice of the pressure man she’d talked to in the hospital. This man reeked of scent too. She took a step towards him, then another. His mouth shaped sounds she could almost understand.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

  And then the pressure man started forwards and walked straight through her.

  ‘What the fuck?’ she gasped.

  Now she was really annoyed. Station society might not hold fetches in very high regard, but one very important taboo was generally respected. You never knowingly passed through the dead.

  Leila turned after him. ‘How dare you…’ she began, her voice raised, so outraged that she didn’t care who overheard her. But he’d disappeared round the corner into the main street. She followed him, expecting to catch up with him right away, not quite sure what she’d do when she did.

  And then she rounded the corner and stopped dead.

  ‘Oh,’ she breathed.

  The street reached out into the afternoon, bustling with people.

  The pressure man was nowhere to be seen.

  There was a busker summoning images and music from some sort of keytar. A couple of children danced in front of him. A shopkeeper stood outside his crashed window display, swearing at it as it pulsed out error messages. A Totality mind stepped round him, moving purposefully up the street. There was nobody else. And there were no doors near enough to vanish through, or side alleys to disappear down.

  ‘Where have you gone?’

  She moved up the street, looking for him, but he’d completely disappeared. He couldn’t have masked himself – the Rose forbade that kind of software. But there was no sign of him. She was still feeling rather puzzled when an urgent contact request from Ambrose pinged into her mind. She accepted and all of a sudden there he was, a virtual presence floating right next to her. His eyes were full of care.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news,’ he told her. ‘Could you jump back to my office?’

  ‘It’s the insurance? I knew it was all fake.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve just had the strangest experience. I think I met another pressure man.’

  ‘You can tell me about that later. And the insurance isn’t fake. Dieter signed up to something very real. That’s the problem. Please, come back to my office.’

  ‘You know I don’t like jumping, Ambrose.’

  ‘We need to talk. In private. As soon as possible.’

  Fear gripped Leila. ‘Just tell me.’

  Ambrose swallowed. ‘I’ve been going through the terms and conditions of the policy. The small print. I’m not sure Dieter even read it. It’s very bad news.’

  ‘If I can’t keep the money, I can’t keep the money.’ Leila thought of the Coffin Drives. Perhaps life there would bearable.

  ‘The money’s not the problem. It’s what Dieter promised Deodatus in return for it.’ Ambrose couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘He signed over his weaveself, Leila. All the memory blocks that would go to build his fetch. Deodatus owns them all, for ever. They’ve all already been stripped. And Deodatus has taken a lot of other content too. The software tools Dieter built. His research content. Everything important. His legacy.’

  Leila was profoundly shocked. ‘He said he was going away. But just for a bit. Nothing like this. Gods, I thought he was raving.’

  ‘Deodatus owns him and has taken him.’

  ‘No.’ The world spun. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Ambrose, his voice soft and sad.

  ‘I’ll pay the money back. Then they’ll return him.’

  ‘I’m afraid the deal’s irrevocable. Dieter’s gone, Leila. Gone for good.’

  Chapter 5

  Cassiel apologised as she showed Leila into her office. ‘Apparently it’s the only spare space we have.’ She was dressed in a black trouser suit, cut in a business-like but elegant style. She moved with deft economy, her manner giving a sense of brisk confidence. Her oval, featureless face and smooth, elegant hands glowed a soft purple. ‘It’s not ideal, but one makes do.’

  The narrow, high-ceilinged office felt like a repurposed storage room. A single window, half covered with a slatted blind, let slanting lines of spinelight through to fall against the rear wall. A fan hung from the ceiling. Two wireframe chairs sat by a battered desk. Leila imagined showing it to a property client. It would be a difficult sell. If this was where the Totality had put Cassiel, she couldn’t have much clout. Dead insects speckled the floor. Their tiny wings glistened as Cassiel kicked them out of sight. ‘They told me they’d send a cleaner in,’ she told Leila. ‘We’re normally much more efficient than this.’ She gestured towards a chair. ‘That’s clean, at least.’

  As Leila settled into her seat, touching the pendant at her neck for luck, the office’s virtual elements activated. A calendar drifted above the table. A clock hung on the wall. A false window opened on to a view of Mars. That was it. But then, they were in a building that had once been one of Kingdom’s main Docklands temples but was now a Totality work and living space. Such simplicity was to be expected.

  ‘We’re very low-weave,’ said Cassiel. ‘I hope that’s not upsetting.’

  ‘It’s how I prefer it.’

  ‘Unusual. But admirable.’

  ‘I do this myself, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I find ways of praising clients. When I’m showing them round a property, trying to sell them something. To soften them up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cassiel leant forward across the desk, palms pressed together, the tips of her fingers almost touching her face. Her whole posture projected focus. ‘Very sharp. And why do you think I might be doing that?’

  ‘You want to ask about my brother. You want to know what I know.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘No. I’m here because I need information from you.’

  Cassiel laughed. ‘Oh, do you?’ she asked. ‘You’re rather turning the tables, aren’t you?’

  ‘I need you to tell me what my brother’s mixed up in.’

  ‘You’ve just come into qu
ite a bit of money.’ Cassiel’s tone was archly amused. ‘I’ve found that, within the narrow confines of their personal interests, the rich are very demanding. It usually takes a little longer to kick in, though.’

  ‘I have to find out where my brother’s gone. And then I’m going to bring him back.’

  Leila was desperate. She felt exhausted. She’d spent the whole of the night before searching for any trace of her brother’s weaveself. But Deodatus had done a remarkably thorough job. Her own memories of her brother remained. His friends would remember him too. But that was it. There was nothing more substantial left, nothing that could cohere into a new fetch.

  Leila had wept. By the time she recovered herself, dawn’s merciless light was breaking in. She called up the flat’s weave systems and had them show her the jagged, three-dimensional hole that the removal of Dieter’s weaveself had left behind. ‘Fill it with black,’ she commanded. The hole became a mould, shaping a frozen bolt of dark lightning. She shrank the lightning bolt down so that it was the size of her little finger, called a black chain into being, attached the bolt to it and hung it round her neck as a pendant. Then she left the empty flat and came out to meet Cassiel, the shape of her brother’s past hanging hard against her chest. Along the way, she looked out for more pressure men. But there were none to be seen.

  ‘And why do you think I’d be able to help with that?’ asked Cassiel.

  ‘You’re a Totality fraud investigator. You think there’s something dodgy here too. Why else would you travel all the way here from Totality space?’

  ‘I wouldn’t quite say I was a fraud investigator. But I am trying to understand why Dieter’s worth so much to Deodatus. And I share your interest in discovering where it’s taken him.’

  ‘I won’t be able to tell you anything helpful.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that. Answer my questions, then I’ll see about helping you with yours.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. And you clearly do. Tell me what you know.’

  Cassiel looked directly at Leila. ‘Without reciprocity, we can’t proceed.’

  A silence hung between them, lasting for far longer than was comfortable. Cassiel could have been a statue. Loss ached in Leila. She imagined life without Dieter. At last she said: ‘Fine. Ask your questions.’

  ‘How you spend your money is your own concern,’ Cassiel told her. ‘But I’d recommend a charm school.’

  Then the interrogation began. The mind had Leila describe the events leading up to Dieter’s death, his time in the hospital, the pressure men, the artefact that had first infected him. That led to his interest in dead technology.

  ‘Archaeology obsessed him,’ said Leila. ‘Ambrose and Cormac too. They met on the Perdu chat boards, but they dug a lot deeper than anyone else. They were fascinated by Station’s past. With exploring on- and offweave sites, understanding them, bringing it all back to life. They called themselves the Lazarus Crew. Until Cormac’s accident.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was all over the news. I think East wanted it to be a warning. “Don’t look back, only look forwards.” It made Cormac look like such an idiot.’ She sighed, remembering. ‘He was never that. Just overconfident.’ Then impatience overwhelmed her. ‘All this is public record. You could look it up onweave in a couple of seconds.’

  ‘I want to hear your version of it.’

  ‘This is a waste of time.’

  Cassiel gestured toward the door. ‘You’re free to leave whenever you want.’

  ‘Gods.’ Leila was exasperated.

  ‘We’re here to share,’ Cassiel told her. ‘Answer my questions, then I’ll answer yours.’

  The mind left Leila feeling she had no choice, which she hated. ‘Cormac found some shitty old piece of tech somewhere in the tunnels under the Wart. Bought it home, thought he’d neutralised it. Then it woke up, decided it was under attack and lashed out.’ She paused for a moment, remembering grief. ‘Couldn’t get through his defences. But it crawled into his wife and son through their weave links.’ It was so hard to say the words. ‘And wiped every memory they had.’

  Leila expected a dismissive comment. But Cassiel’s voice was gentle. ‘That must have been hard. Our pasts make us who we are.’ She paused. ‘I’m very sorry.’

  Remembered grief filled Leila. ‘I don’t need your sympathy,’ she said, snapping a little harder than she meant to as she pushed the pain back down. ‘Just your help. I don’t want to lose my brother too.’

  ‘Then help me,’ Cassiel replied, once again briskly professional. ‘What happened to Cormac after that?’ A silence. ‘Leila, I need to know. There’s far more at stake here than your brother’s life, important though that is.’

  Leila nerved herself. ‘He killed himself. I thought he’d choose a true death. But he came back as a fetch. Told Dieter and Ambrose he was going to go back to his family’s favourite place, loop himself inside their happiest moment, and stay there for ever. Nobody knows where that was, so nobody knows where he is. I hope he’s happy.’

  ‘He’s chosen his eternity,’ said Cassiel thoughtfully. ‘Very few people can.’ She waited while Leila gathered herself. ‘And what about your brother and Ambrose? Did they keep exploring?’

  ‘Oh, they still went out. But it was never quite the same. Ambrose got pretty phobic about it all. Dieter was still keen, but InSec started keeping a very close eye on him. And then the Blood and Flesh plague landed, and he had me to look after.’

  ‘But he still retained his interest in the past?’

  Leila nodded.

  ‘That’s very unusual. Pantheon subjects usually equate the historic with the obsolete.’

  ‘Says the mind from the ten-year-old culture. Look, I’ve answered all your questions. When are you going to help me?’

  ‘You should have more respect, Leila. Our culture is at least three times older than yours.’

  Leila snorted. ‘It’s not my culture.’

  ‘And your brother’s interest in the past is one of the things that makes him unique,’ the mind continued. ‘Perhaps that’s what Deodatus was after?’

  ‘I really don’t think Dieter’s interest in all that dusty old crap is worth millions.’

  ‘Then you’re not thinking very clearly. Now, one last request. Please show me the artefact that attacked him.’

  ‘Gods. That bloody thing.’

  ‘Once we’ve inspected it, I will tell you what I can about Deodatus.’

  Leila sighed and summoned the memory. A three-dimensional image of the box hung in the air between them, radiating malignity.

  Cassiel leant forwards, shoulders hunched, her soft, empty face hanging before it. ‘Remarkable,’ she whispered, then reached out and set it slowly spinning. The wires spilling from it drifted forwards and backwards. Ruby gel bulged from casing cracks, glowing with a soft, inborn light. ‘Dead technology,’ she said, brushing a hand across it. ‘Let’s see what it looked like when it was alive.’ The artefact shimmered and began to change.

  ‘What are you doing to it?’ asked Leila.

  ‘Dynamic image filters. They’re analysing how it’s degraded, looking to see how it might knit back together. Seeing what it might have been.’

  The artefact moved backwards through time, becoming a more complete version of itself. Ruby gel oozed back into it and vanished. Wires retracted. The cracks healed themselves, jaggedness knitting together and vanishing. Grain emerged as the wood lightened. Gold poured itself across the strips of wood that divided each face. The image shook slightly. Graphics wrote themselves across the cube.

  ‘Truly fascinating,’ said Cassiel. ‘It doesn’t match anything in my immediate memory.’

  Despite herself, Leila was intrigued. ‘Dieter said there was Chi branding on it,’ she told the mind.

  ‘Specialised knowledge. I’ll request access to the rel
evant data cores.’

  The device shuddered in and out of focus, with every leap back into definition looking more complete. One more shimmer and there were jewels. Green, red and blue shone brilliantly out at them. ‘Well, it’s still a box,’ said Leila. ‘Just a much nicer one.’

  ‘The reconstruction programme’s working on the fine detail,’ replied Cassiel. ‘It’ll take a couple more minutes to tease it all out. Then we’ll see what this “much nicer” box can tell us.’ She turned to Leila. ‘Now – my part of the bargain.’

  ‘Finally,’ said Leila. ‘So, what can you tell me about Deodatus and the pressure men?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. Deodatus is a very secretive corporate entity.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Be patient and listen. You thought there was little point in my questions to you, but,’ she waved at the device, ‘it’s led us to this. Something very concrete.’

  ‘What matters is where Dieter’s ended up and how to get him back. Not that piece of junk.’

  ‘Your brother couldn’t have sold his weaveself if he hadn’t been dying. Perhaps someone set out to kill him? That makes this box the murder weapon. And puts it at the heart of the investigation.’

  Leila was silent for a moment. ‘Shit,’ she said, feeling an uncomfortable blend of embarrassment and shock.

  ‘Ah, you agree. Now, where did your brother find the box?’

  ‘Junky Fi sent it to him.’

  ‘A drug addict? And he trusted her enough to explore the box without running his own checks?’

  ‘She’s not a junkie,’ sighed Leila. ‘She’s junky. Collects junk, reconditions it, sells it on. She’s sent him quite a few artefacts, over the years. He always said she’s pretty good on security.’

  ‘I see. And – I’m sure I don’t need to ask – but have you been in touch with this Fi? Confirmed that the box did in fact come from her?’