Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1)

by Wallace, Andrew

  “So?”

  “So a graze could cause him to bleed out.”

  “Well that’s a bother of a design flaw.”

  “Quite,” Anton says. “That wasn’t the main problem though; the main problem was control.”

  “You mean they move too fast to be able to control themselves?”

  “No, I mean they get more powerful than the people they are there to serve and become… difficult.”

  “Like Jaeger,” I say.

  “Yes,” Anton says. “I suspect his DNA was used as the original template.”

  “What happened?”

  “Speed on its own wasn’t enough. Something else was needed.”

  “Control,” I say.

  “Yes: a failsafe way of conditioning.”

  “Like brainwashing?”

  “In a way,” Anton says. “Unfortunately, that in itself was no use.”

  I think for a moment.

  “The troops can only carry out a single instruction at a time,” I say, “which is not what you want in a battle.”

  Anton nods and then swallows uncomfortably.

  “It was soon realised there were other applications,” he says.

  “Tell me,” I say although I don’t want him to.

  “You have someone who moves so fast you can’t see them. Someone who can be brainwashed into doing exactly what you want, however dreadful…”

  “No…”

  “An assassin, Charity. A high velocity assassin.”

  I shake my head at him but it does no good. Anton squints as if in pain and continues hurriedly.

  “There is one of them after Connor,” he says. “Someone who can’t be bought off or reasoned with.”

  “Bastards.”

  “I know. But in Diamond City it’s the only way to absolutely guarantee that the target is… I’m sorry.”

  The office seems insubstantial. I look at Anton for some kind of reassurance but he is just as lost and helpless as I am.

  “Which company developed these Velossin?” I ask.

  “Centria of course, although now Velossin is a standalone firm.”

  “Where are they?”

  “No one knows. Probably MidZone.”

  “How do people hire them then?”

  “Intermediaries.”

  “I could talk to them…”

  “Forget it Charity. Once the deal is made that’s it.”

  For a while I look at him and he looks back at me. Tears trickle down my face, fast and slow and then fast again.

  “What do I do?” I whisper eventually.

  “Get your sister married to that shithead. Do your job, keep your mouth shut and get more influence. Understand?”

  I feel myself nod. My chest hurts.

  “At some point you will be able to do something about what happened to Connor and Julie,” says Anton.

  He puts his hand gently on mine.

  “Will you do those things Charity? If not for you or me then for Ursula?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  15

  New Runcton looks the same but feels different. I walk around the perimeter with four Centrian guards and pretend their once-comforting uniforms don’t make me uneasy. Each guard stops at a preordained point so I’m soon on my own, which is a relief.

  New Runcton sits in a cubic chamber. There are two large, arched entrances at ground level, two more halfway up and three at ceiling height far above. One wall supports a layer of pod-dwellings, each of which is a bed in a tube. The hundreds of lit pods dotted among the dark ones turn the wall into a constellation but despite the lit interiors every pod is currently unoccupied.

  People from the pods don’t usually venture out of them but when they do it is to visit the Dabs, a set of four interlinked, stubby square towers in a building style abandoned by Centria forty years ago. The Dabs are between the pods and New Runcton’s neighbouring settlement, which is similar to New Runcton although even less inspired. Beyond New Runcton an open diamond plain extends to the entrance on the chamber’s far side.

  The outer edge of the settlement hazards some small originality with a crescent of domes around a sunken garden but all the plants in it are holographic. Some are bigger than they were this morning because they conceal cannons, while the four people who relax amid the green light are actually soldiers.

  From the garden’s edge I can see the sign swing on its own down in the centre of the crossroads. Beyond that, the train tube elevates into the dark vault above. The tube is empty and will remain so because I have bought every ticket for trains coming through here for the next two hours.

  I glance up. I don’t expect a star to appear and whisk me away; that is absolutely the last thing I want, truly. No, I am checking to ensure that the four cruisers hovering in the darkness above cannot be seen.

  They remain hidden in shadow. No stars appear. Good.

  The first of the ‘public’ arrive. They are not the actual occupants of New Runcton, who have been paid to disappear this evening. Instead, they are an idealised version of residents in a place like this; plucky, bold, a bit cheeky. Meanwhile, Centria people emerge from the houses and begin to mingle.

  Soon there is a party atmosphere, as if New Runcton is the social hub of Diamond City. I have created an event that everyone should be at, even though they don’t know it exists. Fortunately, they can buy vix links from the people who are here and experience the party that way instead. I don’t want to feature in any recordings and keep to the edge so nobody notices me amid the growing crowd.

  I call Anton.

  “All good,” I tell him.

  His face is its old tense mask.

  “No activity in the surrounding areas,” he says. “I’ll call again in ten minutes with an update.”

  He ends the call.

  Music starts to pulse gently in the air. Deeply buried in its rhythm is the wedding motif that will soon inform every musical patent coming out of Centria. It builds but sounds slightly empty in the half-filled town.

  More people cross the plain to New Runcton from the chamber next door. They have been paid a lot to be surgically altered so they look poor and sick but we need to be careful. The poor and the sick are not victims. They are people on their way back up, perhaps all the way to Centria itself with Ursula leading them like a trashy girl messiah.

  The poor and sick don’t mingle too much with the style sheikhs and party people; that would be unconvincing. However, a few gestures here and a few conversations between unlikely parties there begin to create a sense of something special happening.

  Ellery calls.

  “Broadcast in one minute,” she says.

  “I’m ready Ellery,” I say.

  I’m impressed with how flat and unexcited my voice has become. Once I am promoted, I will really fit in. Perhaps the Harlan experience will enhance my status in unexpected ways by making me seem interesting and edgy. It will certainly give my life a story for the first time. No one will actually mention it of course so I can safely forget about golden threads and wicked beards, while the offline n-gun is just so much pointless circuitry. Even his name will fade, eventually, I am sure. I think about how amazing the weather is going to be today and feel better, not that I was feeling bad, not at all.

  Ursula struts out of the largest building. When she waves to everyone they seem to forget they are actors in a little play and cheer spontaneously. Pride surges through me. Ursula is the soul of this artifice; she makes everything all right.

  Milky light swirls in the floor as she walks across it. As well as decoration to mark the steps of the Princess, it’s a gentle drug mix that quickly elevates the mood still further. We must give the impression that the party has gone on for days without spending longer than two hours here. Some of the guests have bare feet while others kneel and press their hands against the floor. Everyone is soon much happier and more relaxed although I keep my boots on and so does Ursula.

  I check the weather. It’s positive and we alrea
dy have coverage everywhere. Even The Cron, that bastion of tedious conservatism, is squeaking about how Ursula might have grown up and become a proper princess after all.

  It’s a shame so many of the guests decided to wear black. Hold on. Black? That’s not on brand. I do a quick count. There are twice the people here I expected, which is impossible. None of the broadcasts give our exact location, which will be announced when we’ve gone.

  There’s a sudden flash above and something patters down around me. It’s quickly absorbed into the floor but not before I see burned cloth and tiny fragments of…

  I look up. There’s another flash as a second Centrian cruiser explodes, its gleaming sphere expanding outwards in a blinding cloud of gas and debris. As the terrible sound of its destruction rumbles past us the flash illuminates the last two cruisers as they spin in the upper air. Their confused motion suggests they can’t determine the source of attack.

  A beam of intense red light licks at one of the cruisers, which spins hopelessly to shatter against the far wall. As the parts tumble to the floor the last cruiser starts shooting. In the light of gunfire I make out a cannon emplacement on the distant ceiling of the chamber’s upper entrance. The cannon shoots back and hits the cruiser, which spirals over us to crash into the Dabs. Instead of exploding, the cruiser just smashes through the empty towers with an awful shriek.

  The crowd doesn’t notice. They are crazed, ecstatic. The floor is bright as more of the drug is pumped into them and now the white has streaks of purple in it. Not everyone dances; the people in black stand among revellers like dark rocks in a frothing sea.

  I look around for the security detail but wherever I expect to see them there’s a clump of black-cloaked figures instead. The figures surge and swell as the surrounded guards fight back.

  I wait for the hidden guns in the sunken garden to come into play but the garden too is full of mysterious dark figures. There are so many of them I doubt anyone watching can even see what’s happened. When the groups of black-clad figures disperse the guards have gone, their deaths hidden from the recs that broadcast every horrible moment of this debacle. I try to switch the recs off but the control codes have been changed.

  I cry in panic and search for Ursula. Instead, I make eye contact with a bald, middle-aged crag of a man on the other side of the road who watches me with an expression of beady-eyed triumph. He’s got a powerful-looking body but there is something petulant, even childish about him. Perhaps it’s his expression, which makes me feel like everything wrong in the world is my fault.

  I scan him. His name is Thom3 Hobb. His name suggests he is not quite rich and not quite poor but some unhappy median between the two.

  I call Anton.

  “I know,” he says. “We’ve got ships on their way.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “The Sons of the Crystal Mind,” Anton says. “Oh hell, there are more of them. The way is blocked; we are engaging… Charity, sorry, stay alive.”

  Distracted, he cuts the connection.

  The party guests throw themselves around. All reason has left their faces and I doubt they will recover.

  I spot Ursula. Black-clad men surround her. We didn’t want to look too corporate so she wears a one-piece red dress with black leggings and boots. I’ve got on something similar but in blue. She is a bright spot of undimmed colour and beauty amid their hideous drabness. I want her to beat these idiots into babbling submission but she can’t because there are at least two of them restraining each of her limbs. One of the men pulls out a knife.

  My outrage turns to fear so pure it’s like a high note amid the din. The man slices Ursula’s boot off and presses her foot against the floor. Her head lolls back and she sways. The man drops his knife and slips the remains of Ursula’s boot back on. I’m knocked forward. Everything smudges out-

  I recover in time to feel myself hoisted up and rushed across the glowing floor to Ursula, who smiles at me. She wears a black cloak over her red dress. I look down and see that I wear a black cloak too. I try and move my arms but they are tied behind me under the cloak.

  I remember the n-gun and activate it. The little target sight does not appear. I wiggle my finger and realise the n-gun points at my body.

  People bang into us and bloody spit flies out of their mouths as they scream. The BAM BAM BAM of Ursula’s song is distorted by volume into something bullying and vicious. Ursula herself is lit from below by the hellish drug. She looks demented.

  True to their name, the Sons of the Crystal Mind are all male. They remain motionless amid the tumult and any drug-ruined guest who bumps into one of them is punched to the ground where the crazed dance continues in a smear of blood.

  The Sons have formed a thick semicircle that reaches back to incorporate most of the town. Tops of buildings and blocks grown from the floor are used as vantage points to create a kind of arena. The focus is a point in the middle of the street, where a set of ten steps grows. Thom3 Hobb strides up them to look over his silent followers and the unfortunates who jerk brightly between them.

  I kick Ursula. Someone jabs me in the kidneys and I gasp at the unexpected pain.

  “Don’t fucking touch her,” a male voice hisses, just about audible over the terrible din. “And fucking look happy.”

  The music cuts out. Its absence is a shock. The only sound comes from the people who writhe and moan on the floor.

  As the drug glow fades Hobb lifts his hands from his sides and spreads his fingers.

  “We are honoured,” he says.

  His amplified voice is a powerful baritone. Unexpectedly, it sounds like an anchor of sanity; people watching in-Aer will think Hobb has arrived just in time to save us. Despite everything I want to trust him, for him to let me know the bad things are not my fault after all.

  Hobb breathes deeply. He stares at the floor, his expression a peculiar mix of love and rage. His eyes narrow and he cocks his head slightly as if listening. Beneath the shock I get a sudden sense of profound strangeness.

  How do I know the Basis is not a god? I don’t understand how the technology works. We have let our knowledge of it go along with so much else as we carry on our insane, cramped little dance amid the glittering ruin of our species. The destruction around me is so overwhelming, the inversion of reality so total that it does feel like I am in the presence of some wrathful deity. Perhaps it too fled into Diamond City and festers down here with us, enraged at the colossal vanity that is our last great achievement.

  Hobb finishes his mysterious communion and looks from the floor to Ursula and me.

  “The lovely daughters of great Centria have joined our cause today,” Hobb says. “The People’s Princess herself, Ursula Freestone and her fine sister Charity have heard the call and become part of our great mission.”

  Around us, the Sons begin a deep, humming chant. Hobb closes his eyes and smiles. He’s got a surprisingly nice smile, especially with his eyes closed. His teeth are even, if a bit discoloured, but that just makes him seem more genuine and trustworthy.

  Looking at his smile I feel that everything might turn out fine after all. The four ships will reassemble themselves, our soldiers will pop out of the floor shaking their heads in befuddlement and the people on the ground will get up and tell everyone who didn’t experience it what an utterly splendid high that was. Hobb takes a deep breath and his large chest gets even bigger.

  “The Crystal Mind!” he roars.

  Hobb’s voice blasts away foolish notions of hope and redemption. His gaze is so intense it nearly hurts and rage has distorted his smile into a terrible sneer. He has clearly got himself confused with the god he is meant to serve.

  “The Crystal Mind,” the Sons boom as one.

  I shake in my silly blue dress under a black cloak that smells faintly of sweat.

  “O Humble God in the Floor,” Hobb says. “You are the source of all light, of all warmth, of all food and all drink. We thank you for your bounty, for the freedom and the life y
ou give us.

  “Forgive our waste. Forgive our foolishness. Teach us the way before it is too late, before we squander your gifts as our ancestors squandered the whole world. In you is eternal life for those who reach the true awareness. We know you will guide the ones who are pure.

  “There are many whose greed and folly are such that they would abuse you to breed monsters whose existence is an affront to you. Their very being contaminates everyone, even us your loyal servants.

  “Our dream is to reside in you as a lattice of bright power, but that dream will never be realised while such creatures exist. We your Sons will hunt them down. In their deaths the horror that taints us will fade, Blank by filthy Blank until we have attained purity for all men in Diamond City.”

  Beside me, Ursula groans as the drug wears off. She shakes her head and widens her eyes as she tries to focus. Her damp face is pale, her eyes slightly bloodshot. She looks around and then at me.

  “Who are these pricks?” she says.

  “Shut up, bitch,” the nearest Son snarls.

  He is a small, weedy-looking man. None of the Sons is particularly impressive in himself, but together they generate a field of danger so strong it’s like a tingling on the skin. I look away, scared and see a diamond column grow in front of Hobb. Other objects grow at the base but I can’t make out what they are.

  I’m distracted by a commotion near one of the buildings. The Sons have got hold of someone who screams at them, his voice familiar.

  “Get off me you fucking lunatics!”

  The Sons drag the man into view. It’s 88 Rabian, leader of the Blanks who seized control of Ursula’s party.

  I look again at the column below Hobb. The objects at the base of it are blocks of wood. I didn’t think I could feel any sicker.

  The Sons drag 88 Rabian over to the column where diamond bands grow around his limbs to hold him in place.

  “Princess Ursula,” Hobb says, “we present the leader of the terrorists who attacked you in your home. We must deal with him but await your final approval. Do you approve, Ursula?”

  Ursula is still unsteady from the drug but straightens nonetheless and her eyes narrow. She will use her magic, be it flirting, wit or outright aggression to get everyone out of this awful place. I almost smile and then I see the terrible thing.