Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1)

by Wallace, Andrew

  I follow Ursula upstairs, feeling strangely formal. We pass my old room and then Ursula’s, both kept as they were in case we come and stay which, I realise sadly, we never do. As Ursula enters Mum and Dad’s room my nervousness turns to dread. Ursula stops. I move past her and stop as well.

  Anton Jelka turns towards us and I stare at him. It’s not just the Head of Security’s unexpected presence. I cannot get on with a man so tense his face looks like it’s being strangled by his expression, while he can’t get on with a girl he regards as chaotic but who has sufficient influence to ensure her chaos becomes his problem. Ursula shifts impatiently beside me and I turn to the bed.

  Mum looks asleep. Her chest rises and falls. I hesitate as I reach for her as if whatever it is might be contagious and then touch her forehead anyway. She feels the same; no warmer or cooler than normal. One of her arms is outside the cover and a tiny tube from the floor goes into it. There’s a small crease between her eyes, as if she is frozen at the point of pretending she’s not in pain.

  “It’s some kind of artificially induced coma,” Anton Jelka says.

  “Induced how?” Ursula says.

  “We don’t know,” Anton says.

  He seems defensive.

  “Via the ifarm,” Ursula says.

  I look at her in surprise.

  “That’s not possible,” Anton says. “It could just as easily have been a beam or a projectile.”

  “Did you see anyone fire a beam or a projectile?” I ask.

  “No,” he says.

  “You watch our every move,” I say. “What’s the point of that if someone can knock out one of your best agents without you knowing?”

  Anton shakes his head in exasperation.

  “What about Dad?” Ursula says.

  “We last heard from Connor at the same time… this happened.”

  “It happened at exactly the same time?” I ask, astonished.

  “Yes. It’s as if whatever hit her affected him as well.”

  “Is he in the same state as Mum?” I say.

  “If he was we would probably have found him,” Anton says.

  “Probably?” Ursula says.

  “He may have been taken.”

  “By-?” I say.

  “I don’t want to speculate Charity,” Anton says. “It won’t help.”

  Ursula starts to cry; I put my arms around her and she bends her head down so her face rests on my shoulder.

  “What…?” I try to think of the right words but my mind has become infuriatingly slow. “What is Centria doing for Dad now?”

  “We sent ships to his last known location,” Anton says, “but there was nothing.”

  “Where was that?”

  “MidZone.”

  “Yes but what coordinates?”

  “You’re not going out there Charity.”

  I glare at him. Ursula stops crying and looks up. Anton shakes his head. His lack of officiousness is disarming; he looks like he is considering what to tell us and what to leave out.

  “We sent our best troops,” he says finally. “They scoured the surrounding area and utilised our contacts there. And then…” He looks away. “They were attacked. We don’t know who by. We nearly lost two soldiers. Investigations will continue of course but… It doesn’t look good for Connor. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh are you-?” Ursula starts.

  “Yes Ursula, I am,” Anton says. “I admired both of your parents, more I think than…” He stops himself. “Will either of you be staying here?”

  The question is unexpected. Ursula and I look at each other.

  “I thought not,” Anton says.

  I stare at Mum without really seeing her.

  “Julie will be monitored by the ifarm’s medical facility and if there is any change in her condition the three of us will know about it immediately. Security Control will seal the house. Only the three of us and Connor will be able to enter. We should leave now.”

  I don’t want to go but I don’t want to stay either. My mind is a jumble of confusion, rage and icy calm.

  Ursula leans over Mum and cuddles her. Anton watches as I wait behind Ursula, conscious of being second in line. Ursula finally lets go and moves aside. I look down at Mum. I have never felt closer to her, or so far away.

  A small, cold voice tells me that if Mum dies I won’t find out who I am. Sick with guilt, I quickly kiss her on the forehead and pick up her familiar smell; slightly spicy and with remnants of the perfume she wears to complement it. Ursula smells the same. Again I am utterly different; I smell sweet like biscuits, or so I’m told.

  I straighten, turn and walk quickly out of the bedroom. Ursula follows me downstairs with Anton behind us both.

  “She called you,” Anton says.

  I pause by the front door, relieved my back is to Anton so he doesn’t see me swallow nervously.

  “She told you to log out of the ifarm,” Anton says, “which you did. Why?”

  I turn to him.

  “She said she was worried about Dad,” I say.

  He watches me. I look back at him evenly. Ursula stares at us both.

  “Is that it?” Anton says.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “It is an offence to log out of the ifarm Charity. Under the circumstances I will let the matter go but don’t do it again.”

  I nod as we step out of the front door. Anton walks past, glances back and I turn to see diamond flow up over the family home. As the shield hardens so does part of me: a violent, dread purpose I can feel in my limbs like a quiet hum. Anton looks at me closely as if he can see this change but leaves without another word.

  “Company,” Ursula says thickly.

  I turn back to see four cruisers fly over the little island. The cruisers are much larger versions of the one that brought me and Ursula here and they reflect four distorted sliding realities as they descend past the front of the house. Once each cruiser has come to rest on its mirrored underside a hatch opens in the nearest and Ellery Quinn steps out.

  Centria’s Communications Director is a well-built woman who would not look out of place in the army. Her arms, which are proudly exposed as usual, are strong but retain their total femininity. Her walk is an unapologetic heavy-hipped waddle, as if she carries the richness of the world between her legs. In a place where beauty is easily affordable there is something endearingly true about Ellery’s lined face and long, thick, crazy red hair. However, despite her dense physicality Ellery seems removed, like a watcher above the world. I imagine her real self is in another dimension with the body I see a grudging emanation into our crude universe.

  I don’t recognise her expression as she walks up and seizes me. I’m so astonished I go rigid. Ellery tightens her grip until I have no choice but to relax. When she turns her face to kiss the side of my head her lips touch my temple.

  “Hn. Sorry,” she says.

  That’s a lot of words for Ellery. The so-called Voice of Centria is the most taciturn person I’ve ever met. Most of her communication takes place on levels unimaginable to the rest of us. She will be juggling twenty conversations even now and her eyes are hard to meet. They seem to vibrate in a blur of bright green as she reads and processes a document every second.

  I put my palms on her sides. I think this is the first time I have ever touched Ellery in four years of working for her. I wait for her to say something else but instead she lets go and extends her arm to Ursula, who slots herself into an embrace. Ellery strokes Ursula’s hair. They seem far more comfortable with each other.

  I sigh, turn and see who waits patiently beside the furthest ship. I am so astonished my mouth drops open. For a moment I forget everything that has happened.

  Keris Veitch stands with her hands in the pockets of a richly embroidered long green dress. She wears Old World light brown boots with wooden heels and there are bangles with unfamiliar designs around her wrists. Her hair is a thick yellow braid with emeralds and flowers woven into it. Bright and lush, it coils
over her shoulder and down between her breasts to her waist. She is tall, as tall as Ursula. However, Ursula, who until now I had thought the most beautiful and charismatic person I knew, is a wisp compared to Keris. Keris is like the lost sun.

  Five warships hover behind her as if conjured from her sleeves. Roughly triangular with the flat plane uppermost, the warships are huge airborne fortresses capable of disgorging a hundred troops or a terrifying array of heavy-duty weapons. Each is dull red, presumably to signify danger although it’s not necessary.

  Somehow I know it’s all right to stare at Keris even though as Chief of Centria she pretty much rules the world, what’s left of it. She’s got a mouth that always smiles, its corners turned up, with an ironic touch to her delicate lips. We sell thousands of patents to women who want the same effect although with Keris it is natural. The depth in her violet eyes speaks of tension between a terrible far away realm and this place, this moment. I have seen such things, she seems to say, and no one can understand them except perhaps you.

  Like everyone, I’ve heard the legends. Some are quantifiably real, like when she led the Centrian army from the front against the New Form Enterprise during her victory in the Ruby War. I’ve seen footage of her flying her cruiser right into the throat of battle as cannons blasted ships apart either side. Other stories seem more suspect. One tells how she founded the Centria we know from the broken empire of Titan, the original dictator of Diamond City, using a single patent for dancing place mats. Still others, like the fact she personally created the first Blanks, may be true but probably aren’t.

  As I quietly dither she walks towards me. Feeling important yet absurd I look around self-consciously but Ursula and Ellery have gone. I turn back to find Keris there. She doesn’t look much older than I am although there is a gravity to her that suggests she has always existed, like an element.

  “Charity,” she says.

  Her voice is higher than I expected and there seem to be other voices hidden inside it, one for each person she will ever talk to. Keris extends a hand, expression calm as if every moment is a triumph for her.

  “I’m Keris Veitch,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you at last.”

  I take her hand. Her grip is delicate but strong, like the filigree cables that hang gigantic assemblies over Centria.

  “Hello Keris. Thank you. For coming.”

  Her expression hardens as she looks over my head at Mum and Dad’s house.

  “I’m sorry to hear what happened to Connor and Julie. I’m very, very angry about it. I want you to know that we will… deal with those responsible.”

  I gaze up at the warships hanging in the sky outside our family home. Keris and I look back at each other at the same time.

  “Good,” I say.

  She smiles.

  “Walk with me,” she says.

  So I walk down the path I played on as a little girl with the ruler of the world.

  “How are arrangements for the wedding?” Keris asks.

  “Good,” I say again, “very good.”

  “I hear you’re doing well,” Keris says.

  Feeling dizzy I go to say something about arrangements but what comes out is:

  “What was the mission Mum and Dad were on?”

  Keris turns to me as if the question was entirely reasonable rather than an outrageous demand to breach security.

  “They found the New Form Enterprise,” she says.

  I stare at her.

  “Connor was tracking them through the Outer Spheres,” Keris says. “One man with his skills was less conspicuous than a whole squad. It would seem the NFE found out and attacked Connor and Julie. I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

  “What do I do?”

  “What you’re doing; the merger with VIA Holdings will make Centria even stronger. In the meantime, we are using all our resources to save Connor and Julie.”

  “Thank you Keris.”

  “Thank me when they’re back with you.”

  Keris smiles almost shyly and then leans over to kiss my cheek. She turns and walks back to her cruiser while my face tingles where her smiling lips touched it. A moment later she’s gone and the space over Mum and Dad’s is as empty as it was when I was young.

  3

  I look at Ursula’s naked body, aware that most people would pay a lot of kilos to see what I’m seeing now. It would be worth it. Somehow, she is perfect without following any of the rules. Her skin is the colour of cream and there is no mottling anywhere. Her breasts and her bottom seem disproportionately large, to the extent that she should have a body like Ellery’s to handle them but she hasn’t. Instead, she’s got these long legs that taper to slender ankles and tiny feet that successfully defy balance, gravity and other minor considerations. Her stomach is flat without being very muscular and her waist is narrow although not grotesquely so. Dark hair forms a soft, inviting shadow between the sweet curves of her hips.

  Holographic Ursulas wearing a range of dresses walk across my room past us. The colour and design of each denotes the length of time it will last; the greater the length, the higher the associated status. Some dresses even depict their lifespans, either woven in or stamped on the front. Each dress winks into nothing as Ursula dismisses it. She gets the selection down to three, none of which suit her so I quietly find a better alternative that costs 132 kilos.

  “This grey one,” I say.

  Ursula scrunches her face slightly.

  “Grey,” she says. “Really?”

  If I’m going to get that outfit on her I will have to buy it myself. My ifarm account contains 21,300 kilos. I pass my hand through the grey dress hologram and all the others vanish. As my account goes down to 21,168 kilos, the dress grows out of the floor straight onto Ursula. She looks down at it, unconvinced.

  “Don’t worry,” I say.

  My salon seat grows behind Ursula; she sits and her head sinks into the bulb so it looks like she’s wearing an old-fashioned space helmet. I decide on her makeup; the seed picks up my instructions and sends them to the ifarm, which relays them to the salon. Soon the bulb melts away to reveal its dizzying enhancement of my sister’s beauty: her hair its trademark gleaming dark curtain with an asymmetric fringe and her makeup a series of subtle shades that complement the dress. Ursula gets up and then sways.

  Two days have passed since the mysterious attack on Mum and Dad. There has been no change in the situation and no answers have been forthcoming. Ursula and I rely on routines and engagements to get by; tonight for example is another pre-wedding party. We don’t want to go but at least it will pass the time, distracting us from silence and restless, bleak rage. I put my hand on Ursula’s arm. She turns and embraces me tightly.

  Suddenly, I want to stay here with her forever. Everyone in Diamond City thinks they love Ursula but none of them love her like I do. We’ve got kilos so the Basis will supply us with food, air and water. We will have each other for company and we will be safe.

  Inevitably Ursula lets go and reluctantly so do I. She straightens and becomes the People’s Princess.

  “Come on,” she says and walks out.

  I look at the salon longingly but there isn’t time for me to use it. Instead I put my chin into the crook of the suit elbow and draw the smart cloth up over my face, which emerges made up in its usual way. Shading modulates my inexplicable light tan, shadow with a subtle green design surrounds my eyes to make the best of them and a pale sheen covers my lips to detract from their fullness and avoid looking tarty.

  I head through the door after Ursula. As I hurry along the corridor I clench my hair between my upper and lower right arm and pull it between them. The hair emerges clean and conditioned to rustle down my back in a wavy golden fall.

  I run onto the walkway and see Ursula stride ahead of me, the grey dress rippling out behind her. The walkway is thankfully deserted, not that Ursula needs an audience for her seductive swagger. I run to catch up before anyone else appears but just as I reach my sister, Ruben
Toro hurries out of a side corridor with the fixed look of someone pretending this is a coincidence.

  A respected analyst in Gethen Karkarridan’s feared Centrian Business Division, Ruben used to be a small man. He was proud of his naturally occurring baldness and slightly wonky face, which were endearingly original features amid Centria’s many perfections.

  Now, however, he is tall like Ursula. His hair is thick, dark and cut in a style that Ursula might sport if she was male. Ursula’s unconventional beauty is notoriously hard to replicate, especially in men. The most effective option, which is the one Ruben has chosen, is not an exact match but a variation on a theme. Ursula’s jaw is slightly masculine anyway and Ruben has had this feature emphasised. Ursula’s eyes are striking because of the humour in them as much as their rich hazel colour; again this can’t be copied so instead Ruben has enhanced the slight upturn at the outer edges. His mouth is wantonly kissable and his teeth when he smiles are slightly, maddeningly uneven, like Ursula’s. The unnerving result of Ruben’s surgery is that he looks more like Ursula’s brother than I do her sister.

  “Woh!” Ruben says. “Hello Ursula!”

  “Hello you scruff,” Ursula says.

  She doesn’t break her stride. Ruben is put off-balance but rights himself like an automatic toy and hurries after Ursula. He ignores me but I’m used to that.

  “I saw your chat show the other night,” Ruben says.

  “Of course you did,” Ursula says. “I was amazing.”

  “That chap who supported the Sons of the Crystal Mind; you absolutely tore him a new one. Um,” Ruben swallows nervously. “Do you support the Blanks then?”

  If Ursula says yes then Ruben will support the Blanks. If Ursula says no then Ruben will probably join the Sons himself. He is not quite a stalker; he would soon be an ex-employee if he was. Instead, he thinks he’s got a unique link to Ursula, a belief he has in common with most of Diamond City.

  “The Blanks are the Blanks,” Ursula says.

  She manages to make it sound like an opinion.

  “Ah, yes,” Ruben says.

  He tries to mull Ursula’s statement over but the glare of her presence has burned away rational thought like a pleasure drug.