All Fall Down

by Astrotomato

  “We had them, too, but they were rare. An elite class in the ruling party was allowed them. That's why our AI technology was so advanced. We concentrated on that, not human augmentation. There was another reason, too. In the Common Quarters everybody wanted to be different. To stand out. People had implants, limbs replaced to help improve physical abilities, intellectual capacity, health, sexual performance. Some did it just to look, I don't know, interesting Eventually some humans gave up their bodies and put their brains into mechanical bodies. Things shaped like balls, tanks, spiders. Many historians say they were exploring the outer limits of humanity. We became the aliens we'd always imagined would be out here. But the Qin leaders wanted racial purity. Cloning programmes were established. People stopped having babies and simply cloned themselves. Some who did this manipulated the foetus to grow into their opposite gender. They would then mate with that clone to create a pure clone child.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, it sounds barbaric to us. When the Flight of Qin began, many clones were in the first waves, horrified at their parentage. We abandoned our culture so we could breed with non-clones.”

  Kiran was quiet. Win looked out of the cockpit. Planet Fall was approaching.

  “And this is all banned now, right? Out there, humans are humans?”

  “Yes Kiran, they are. They're all like the system you visited, Spys. For almost four hundred years in the common counting. No one is allowed to deliberately change, augment or manipulate our genes or bodies, except for medical reasons of course. That's also in the Organic Edict.”

  “Sounds like a nightmare. Things are simpler now. That's the way I like it.”

  The shuttle approached Fall and at Win's request Kiran projected the pilot-assist onto Win's cockpit window. A tunnel of squares counted them into a fiery welcome as they entered Fall's atmosphere. The small shuttle shuddered as its exterior burned. “You still want to visit the old Colony?”

  “Yes please, Kiran. If you can hold the ship over it for a few minutes, I'd very much appreciate it.”

  They sped over the featureless desert expanse. Around the planet's curve they tracked the great storm, which had swung and was now on a slow return to the Colony.

  After twenty minutes they reached the old Colony. The shuttle paused, catching its breath. Kiran was describing the surface, his words bringing to life the faint bumps in the sand. A small shadow betrayed an open wound in the desert floor.

  “That's in the trailing side of the storm. Think it leads to a lift shaft. Never got close enough to figure out if it was part of the Colony or part of the cruiser. Ground's very unstable round there.”

  While Kiran talked, Win used one of his sensors to take a gravity and radar map of the ground. Perhaps there were cavities stable enough for something to hide inside, something biological. Eventually the shuttle banked and headed back to the Colony. Win left his sensors running, hoping to catch some hint of the secrets hidden on Fall.

  Masjid paced the storage room.

  Why didn't he come? Sophie had said that Daoud would be here to arrange things “imminently”. There wasn't even a bench to sit on. For sixty years he had run MI medical and scientific research programmes. MI knew how to treat their own when things went wrong. He trusted Daoud, of course, but Daoud was a civilian. It was easier to hide things when you were already the military. Masjid reflected on his decision to take up the post on Fall, thirty-odd years ago.

  He had spent his life clawing up the ladder to land a research directorship. On his way he'd been to most of the major systems, been involved in ground-breaking programmes. And he'd upset a lot of people. In his time on Fall he'd had time to reflect on his younger years and his pursuit of power (which is what he realised it was; only here had he fallen in love again with the science, the pursuit of knowledge). He realised that his contemporaries had achieved the same level elsewhere with networks intact, both respected and liked. When he'd taken to Fall he had none of that. Respect, yes, though some of it had been based on fear. He had left behind a younger self who was not well-liked, whose networks had fallen to his own capriciousness. On Fall he had found again the focus to re-invigorate medical science. The science he pursued needed time and a single person's vision to achieve. As much as he shared his life with his partner, whom he'd met here, his scientific goals were now his real love.

  The twenty three pods had been the icing on the cake, what had tempted him to Fall, where he knew he must spend his remaining years. But they had not, at least until a few days ago, been the great biological breakthrough Daoud had foreseen. He had advocated destroying them many times. And now they were paying for keeping them.

  All of his research was threatened, his programmes that would finally eradicate cancers, regenerate limbs fully, and complete the basic science into the full unravelling of the human genome, allowing it to live, grow, unfold, develop in an AI environment, without error. Medicine would never be the same. The goal of a thousand years of research, pulled from its path by war, by the abominations of human augmentation, cloning and the petty but rampant diseases that evolved and continuously distracted on the thousands of Colony planets. Masjid saw his name in the lights of history. The final words on phenomes, on the entanglement and disentanglement of genes and environment, would be spelled in the syllables of his name.

  Why were the pods playing up now? And what about this MI team. This was surely a sham investigation into Huriko's death; Daoud wouldn't countenance the truth coming out. And there was the thing on the surface. He couldn't help but wonder if it was connected to the pods.

  And now Peter's loss posed a greater problem. MI couldn't find out. Mustn't. Why had the Cadre sent this team? Daoud must arrange things, smooth things. He acted on the Cadre's behalf, in his own fashion. They had wanted a civilian in charge. Very well. It was their problem.

  Masjid was cold.

  Peter. His friend these last twenty-something years. Diligent, careful, good with the staff. They would quickly notice he was gone. What would he tell them? A second death so soon after Huriko's. They were on guard already; Daoud had better have a good plan. And then there was his family. “You must calm down,” his blurred reflection in a metal panel next to the door brought no comforting reply. He tried some deep breathing exercises, closed his eyes. “These are a young man's problems.” He distracted himself looking at containers, looking under sheets, looking in corners at what Fall considered essential spares. The door opened behind him.

  “You took your time.”

  “You would have preferred carrying a body through the Colony?” Daoud closed the door, a decisive movement.

  “What are we going to do? The pods have gone berserk. They've killed Peter!”

  “First, Doctor Currie, we are going to wait.” Daoud raised a warning finger, “I was followed by General Leland. She won't find us, and I know you will understand that requires calm voices and a modicum of patience.”

  Masjid's jaw tightened. He stared at Daoud, who held his gaze. Finally, Daoud's wrist pad pinged.

  “We are at liberty to talk now. This is what you're going to do, Doctor. You will arrange a memorial for Doctor Maki. You will re-assign duties, change rosters. Keep people distracted.”

  Masjid waved him away, “I already have. General Leland suggested the same thing.”

  “Then we are already halfway home. Re-arrange your duty rosters. You will ensure Doctor Cassel is locked into administration work. He will send a message saying he's too upset to attend the memorial tomorrow. A rumour will circulate that he and your researcher had a relationship. Tomorrow his body will be found on the surface, with lethal sunburn. Exposure. You will tell people that, overcome with grief about Doctor Maki, Peter committed suicide. A suicide note will attest to this.”

  “Peter has a family!”

  “Be. Quiet.” Daoud stared hard until Masjid had to look away. “He had a family. Now he's dead.”

  “You can't do this to them. I've done some terrible things in my caree
r, but never this. You can't do this to them.”

  “Your voice will remain calm, Doctor Currie. You are free to step into this corridor and explain the real situation to your colleagues from MI.” Daoud put his hand to the door's controls.

  Masjid sighed, defeated. His back sagged. “No.” He looked at the floor, back up. “What about the specimens?”

  “They are no longer your concern. That particular research programme is at an end. That's all you need to know. You will bring your confidential files to me. The files, their subjects, no longer exist.”

  “What are you going to do with them? You can't release them.”

  “It is no longer your concern. You have more pressing issues. Staff rotas need completing. A memorial service needs to be arranged.”

  Masjid watched Daoud tap a comlink on his arm.

  “It's safe to leave now, Doctor. We will walk back past the schools. Are you ready?”

  Masjid closed his eyes, gave a curt nod. He walked over to the door. Daoud put a hand on his shoulder. “Very soon, all this will go away. I promise.”

  Daoud opened the door and Masjid followed him.

  Chapter 8 – Echoes

  Kate sat with the sound of silence. She floated in it, this quiet sea. She listened to its tidal tone. Eventually she felt the need to break the silence. In the holo chamber, she leaned forward from her seat to set a metronome ticking.

  Snick. Behind him, Djembe heard the Central Operations Room holo suite door softly close. The murmur of voices and electronic sounds washed over him. He looked at and nodded to the technicians in the Operations Room. On the way to the elevator, his footsteps gave multiple echoes, tap-taptap, tap-taptap. The elevators chimed when they arrived. The doors shushed when they closed.

  The shuttle descended on a whine which collapsed into a boiling kettle of white noise as the landing jets flared. The landing pads made metallic dinks on the hangar floor. Win dropped through the access hatch, in the middle of the shuttle's settling noise. The pilot's access hatch birthed Kiran into an overhanging shadow. Automatons rolled in with tubes and cables, or clustered, watching and waiting.

  “Thank you for taking me up Kiran.”

  “The pleasure was mine, Sir. Duty calls, I'm afraid. I have to complete docking procedures.”

  “Of course. It was nice to meet you.”

  “I'm usually on the fourth floor refreshment area after twenty hundred hours, if you and your team need a break.”

  “Thank you. I'll bear it in mind.” Clanging noises replaced the conversation. Win picked up his bag. Walking to the door, through the great cavernous hangar, he thought over the last few hours. The silent desolation of Fall's surface. The empty quiet of space, filled with conversation of events past. The screaming violence of atmospheric re-entry. The old Colony, a mausoleum to the dead, impossible to visit, no longer discussed. As the hangar door creaked into the adjoining corridor, he wondered about the ground survey he'd undertaken at the old Colony with its great crashing silence, and what stories it would tell him.

  The metronome Kate had started in the holo suite ticked away the seconds. It was one of Win's programs. She enjoyed the rhythmic sound, and looked forward to the soothing sound and light show that would follow when the others arrived and downloaded their data. She needed the rhythm and the distraction to keep her awake. She focused on the metronome.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Djembe opened the door onto the meeting room. A rich bass note spread around the room when the door intersected the room's holo grid. Sine waves rippled out. His feet tapped across the floor. When he reached the holopit he sat on an antigrav field one hundred and twenty degrees around from Kate, causing points of light to sparkle in the room, the sound of sweet raindrops. Kate's tired eyes remained fixed on the metronome, rhythmically slicing time.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Another rich bass note reverberated the room when Win entered. He nodded immediately in understanding. More raindrops twinkled in the air when he reached the holopit and shifted around in his antigrav support field: invisible chairs on which the three sat. He looked across at Djembe, one hundred and twenty degrees to his left, who was settling into the metronome's regular beat. He may not like these programs, but he liked order.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Win took the sensors out of his bag. He handed one to Kate, the action causing a further bass ripple. She held the sensor in front of her, pushed it into a hardlight download port. The sensor's curved surface flowered open on small clockwork mechanisms. Each cog turn set off the chiming rain. The data download formed staccato tomtom sounds in the holo grid.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Win handed another sensor to Djembe. Again the same, the new bass note causing the fading ripples of the previous to gently resound as if in echoed answer. More staccato, more ringing drops.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Win placed the third sensor into a port projected from the holopit, holding the sensor in place with subtle antigrav fields. Bass. Staccato. Raindrops.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Kate caught Win's eyes. He was smiling, and it was infectious. She roused herself, caught his smile. Perhaps the mission simplicity would be OK. She placed her datapad into the hardlight download port, next to the sensor. Bass. Staccato. Raindrops.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Djembe connected his datapad. The bass notes were catching up with each other. Constructive interference raised their tone. The staccato became quicker, louder. Somewhere in the distance was the sound of heavier rain falling, and the sound of crystal being struck by a tuning fork.

  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock...

  Finally Win plugged in his datapad. An insistent deep tone crashed into the room, the data download brought the staccato into a tribal drumming. The room was filled with a lightshow of accidental music.

  Kate put out her hand and stopped the metronome. The hologrid fuzzed, faded. The sound ticked away into dull remnants, quietened, faded too. Win smiled in his seat. Djembe looked over, “This is one of your old programs, isn't it?” Win nodded. Djembe shook his head, rolled his eyes.

  “I used it for some light relief. We've been on mission too long, I needed a moment.”

  “Fair enough,” Djembe put his hands up. “We are months overdue for a rest.”

  “Shall we get to business?” Kate tapped on her datapad. The heads of the Colony directors appeared between the three of them. “I've interviewed all the Colony directors. Everything seems in order. They've all heard this rumour about the death being due to vendetta. Doctor Currie is going to put on a memorial service. I don't really have anything else. I think it's interesting that we have this coded message mentioning murder, and the colonists believe the scientist was killed.” Kate felt lost again, swinging between hope and anxiety, “Win, what's your report?”

  “I still need to check the victim's training records and operational log, to see why she was out at such a time. The rock island where she was killed has very poor survey maps. I scanned it for biologicals, but there's nothing. No remains on the surface. And no body.”

  “What do you mean 'no body'?” Suddenly Kate was alert again, anxiety forgotten. “That wasn't in the report.”

  Win shrugged, “Sophie says the body would have been carried away by the storm.”

  “What about the biotag the colonists wear?” asked Djembe.

  Win shook his head, “Apparently it recorded Doctor Maki's skin, all of it, being in greater contact with the storm. As if she'd taken off her clothes. And then it registers her death about two seconds later.”<
br />
  Djembe shook his head, “What does that mean?”

  “That we have our first clue to murder.” Kate sat upright, behind her the hologrid fluoresced with each word spoken. “What else, Win?”

  “The probes are in position. One at the Lagrange One point. The other will be on its way to the Lagrange Delta point between the wormhole and effective solar centre. I've already detected some residual particle flow from the wormhole from our own exit.”

  Djembe nodded in agreement, “I had that too, when I was checking the comms systems.”

  Win continued, “The blue star is about to eclipse the yellow. There are already changes to em-radiation and gravity lines. If this death was murder, then we'll probably lose any ion trails before we can properly detect them.”

  “OK, a good start.” Kate was starting to feel lighter. “Djembe, do you have better news?”

  “There was something else, sorry.”

  Kate looked back to Win, “What is it?”

  “On the surface. Something's wrong.”

  Djembe frowned, “Wrong?”

  “Yes. I walked the route of the victim. First, I don't understand why she was out there. Someone so well trained, in this sort of facility, should have been in an aircar. And second, you can hardly see the crevice where the final signal came from.”

  “How large is it?” Kate started looking over the download on her datapad, to match up Win's description.

  “It's not the size. It's... In a sandstorm like they have here, the wind over six hundred kilometres per hour, the suns barely in the sky, you wouldn't see anything. You wouldn't see it.” Win was getting excitable as he outlined his suspicions. “So my first question is, what made her stop? What made her see the crevice? Then next, why go in?”

  Djembe interrupted, “To shelter, of course.”

  Win was shaking his head, but Kate took up his thread, “I think I see where you're going. It says here only one sun was up at the time of death, but the second sun was a few minutes from sunrise. You can struggle through the storm if you're lucky, but her personal log shows her environment suit was only rated for one sun.”