At their current distance, Callisto’s disc appeared as a large crescent, filling the better part of the lounge’s window. On the small slice that was the light side, he caught sight of the capitol of Valhalla. Consisting of a dome made up of concentric rings, it looked like a spider’s web after a rainstorm, moisture and sunlight conspiring to make every strand glisten.
Beyond the terminator where darkness fell, he spotted very little, except for the one other web of light visible from this side of the moon. In the southern hemisphere, twinkling near the polar region, was the comparatively moderate settlement of Galilei. At the southern end, he made out the rings encompassing the adjoining craters of Adlinda, Lofn and Heimdall, as well as the small filaments connecting them into a common urban mass.
Like all settlements on the Jovian moon, the city had grown from research stations established over a century ago. At the time, scientists were looking for a way-station to conduct automated and manned missions further into the system. But given the intense radiation on Ganymede, Europa, and especially Io, no permanent bases were built on any of these other moons. At least, not on the cheap.
It was only after Callisto had grown to the point of becoming a colony that Terrans and other Factions began to break ground on permanent bases on Ganymede and Europa. As for Callisto, all of them were initially intended to drill into the ice and shed light on the greatest mystery of all: whether humanity was alone in the Solar System.
Generations later, humanity would come to learn life existed beneath Ganymede and Europa’s surfaces, but only the latter might be called complex by any stretch of the imagination. Microbes and single-celled organisms were immense finds in the late twenty-first century. But by the twenty-second, humanity was hoping for more. Multi-celled aquatic organisms thrived on Europa, mainly in the form of extremophiles which looked like something out of a prehistoric playbook.
Beyond this, there were thousands of different types of creatures, most of which fell into the categories of scyphozoa and nematode. Ultimately, these too would become tiresome after a few generations. Missions to Titan and other Cronian moons made similar finds, thus demonstrating if humanity wanted to find a peer among the stars, they would have to either start looking elsewhere or concede Fermi had been right. At least for the time being.
Once the search for extra-terrestrial life cooled, industry began to move in. In and around the colonies which once supported research endeavors, facilities began to go up dedicated to the business of ice-mining and resource extraction. Far from attempting to answer the difficult questions about the origins of life, all work on the Jovians became directed toward ensuring people back on Earth and the other terrestrial planets had the resources to keep living.
Whereas Mercury was dedicated to providing them with endless supplies of minerals and energy, Callisto, Ganymede and Europa provided them with water ice, ammonia, methane and other volatiles, all the things terrestrial planets needed to become green and Earth-like.
Which is what had brought him here now. Doctor Lee, the man who was his charge in this case, was out here trying to procure these very things in bulk. It might have been this which had got him nabbed, or killed. Whether he was still alive was a question which would tend to itself. The only real question puzzling Ward – which would go a long way towards determining if Lee was still alive, he hoped – was why they had nabbed him in the first place.
#
I’ve been away too long.
That was the first thing which went through Ward’s mind as he stepped from the yacht. It had been well over a decade since his last visit to Valhalla. The look and feel of the place had changed. It wasn’t unlike what he’d felt upon returning to Ares. Only now, it felt more alien, and a lot less welcoming.
For one, the spaceport felt larger. As the pilot and co-pilot guided the yacht towards the landing bay, Ward didn’t fail to notice the spaceport’s central dome appeared much larger. In the old days, it had an Ottoman look, one large central dome surrounded by several smaller ones. Now, it looked as though a single massive dome had swallowed up the others.
The customs and duties process was much the same. He and the ship’s crew had no problems passing through – his weapon and their IDs only received a tertiary glance before they were permitted to move through into the main terminal. But getting that far required a significant wait as the security personnel sifted through all those who had come before them. Back in his day, Ward would have flashed his Interpol ID and expected quick entry. The slow-moving queues of new arrivals never seemed so long.
Upon entering the main terminal, a newfound sense of openness struck him. The dome still felt like it was the same distance from the ground. But the reach of it extended off in every direction in a way which felt almost unnatural.
For several moments, he found himself standing perfectly still as people thronged past him, staring up at the ceiling of the terminal. Rather than showing him an unobstructed view of the Jovian system, it broadcasted images of an artificial sky. It was now late midday, judging from the way the Sun hung low in the “sky” and the gentle shadowing. The sight of the descending Sun made him feel faintly cooler. Strangely, the urge to duck inside somewhere came over him.
“Everything all right?” asked a voice tinged with concern.
Ward looked over to see his pilot standing next to him. The co-pilot was a few paces behind, carrying the bags and looking rather impatient. Ward was sure to answer politely and in the affirmative.
“Yes, of course. Just noticing a few things.”
The pilot nodded in understanding before continuing. “Got all your things?”
Ward brandished the lone satchel bag in his hand, the one containing all his personal effects. Aside from a single change of clothes, it also held his armored vest and the Rutger. All his worldly possessions, contained in a single bag. Under different circumstances, this might have seemed depressing to him. But it was more belongings than he had known for over a decade.
“Yeah, I’m all set,” he said. “You guys can take off at your leisure.”
The pilot smiled and tapped his forehead. “We’re here if you need to chime us, and will be ready to go as soon as you and Doctor Amaru are.”
Ward nodded and smiled back. The pilot turned to leave, and his co-pilot looked happy to be moving on. Ward scoffed as soon as they were gone. While he was sure the young man was at least partially motivated by concern, he felt the unmistakable hand of Emile and Adler in the mix. Ward had put thousands of AUs between himself and Mercury. He’d even had the Spike removed from his head, yet he still felt horribly and irrevocably monitored.
Well, there was little he might do about that fact. The only recourse he had was to get to the hotel, contact Doctor Amaru, and get their little investigation under way. Before he did, though, he had one more unscheduled stop to make.
Pulling up an overlay, he requested the directory for the settlement of Valhalla, Specifically, he searched for the name Franklin Houte. It had been some time since he had dropped in on his old friend, but it was a visit which had to be made.
#
The transit car stank of body odors and stale air. This, at least, hadn’t changed from the old days. Given every transit car was pressurized and came equipped with its own air filtration system, it was inevitable they would retain the smell of their passengers. In addition to removing CO2 from the air, the scrubbers occasionally injected ozone and fresh oxygen into the mix. But they simply couldn’t scrub out the stink of so much human occupation.
One other thing unchanged was the peculiar nature of Valhalla’s transit lines. Built beneath the colony, the network connected each ring of settlements to the next. Seen from above, it resembled a massive spider web extending for hundreds of kilometers in all directions. At each stop, they either crossed another ring, or shifted laterally to another section of one. The farther they got from the main hubs, such as the spaceport and the hotel district, the more colorful and interesting the passengers became.
Riding around on the lines was therefore a very good way of getting a picture of the settlement’s makeup. After three stops, the car had accumulated a diverse collection of people. Most had the look of being Retros, carrying various portables on their person that gave them away. Ward spotted a few people with augmentations ostentatiously displayed. And then there was the occasional person wearing ceremonial vestments, turbans, yarmulkes, or taqiyahs.
The vast majority of those aboard the transit car exhibited the usual signs of being Jovian: tall, lanky, and thin in build. Comparatively, anyone affluent enough to be coming in from the spaceport had the stockier build of those who been born closer to Sol.
As they neared Ward’s destination, it occurred to him how much he was sticking out. One of the passengers in particular had been staring at him for some time. Ward felt the familiar tingle of his old investigator instincts, alerting him to the possibility someone was following him, maybe planning on doing him harm.
His unwanted admirer was a young woman. Her hair was a loud purple and stood on end. When he tilted his head towards her to get a better look, he picked up a glint from one of her eyes, indicating a corneal implant. It dawned on him why she was staring at him. He was an Extro, and this young woman made a point of displaying her own augmentation. To her, Ward must have presented a bit of mystery, until she realized what his lack of wearables, augments and physique indicated about him.
Extros were not often well looked-upon by the more indigent in Valhalla. Or anywhere beyond the Belt, for that matter.
After their fifth or sixth stop, Ward chanced to look upon her. Instantly, he was struck by a very beautiful smile. Even with one eye looking at him with concentric lenses, both seemed to light up the instant her mouth turned upward.
Ward politely smiled back and broke eye contact with her. The thought of being watched by someone with perilous intentions seemed somehow preferable to a young girl ogling him. He wasn’t sure what she was after, but he had a feeling he wasn’t the person to provide it.
They came to his junction at last and he moved to disembark. He shot one last look in the direction of the young girl, got a friendly wink in return. He almost felt himself blushing as he stepped off the line and into the transit station. His embarrassment was swiftly forgot, pushing his way through the pressurized door connecting the car to the junction.
As he and a handful of others attempted to disembark, several more pushed their way forward to get on. For a second, Ward felt a slight tinge of anxiety come over him, the press of shoulders and hips against him inside a pressurized place triggering the terrible feeling of being trapped.
His hand instinctively reached for his pocket. It found nothing. No reassuring packet of nanopills, no artificial means to combat the fear. Luckily, his new biomonitors noted the spike in in his heart rate and adrenaline production and reacted. Second later, he felt the calming sensation of endorphins and norepinephrine flowing through his system. His breathing began to slow and his heart rate returned to normal.
He pushed his way out onto the platform.
Where there was room to breathe.
Where he was free to move.
He took a second to take a few more breaths, allowing his anxiety to dissipate completely. He noticed the tinge of new scents before long. A good sign. Noticing the details was a sign he was once more in control. The telltale aromas confirmed he was where he needed to be.
Niflheim. The eighth ring of Callisto’s great capitol. And, assuming the local directory hadn’t been lying to him, the place where he would find Franklin’s place of business.
Sixteen
The sign was unambiguous, at least for those who knew how to read between the lines. Ward was sure to check the terminology just to be sure.
House of Flamines.
He suppressed the desire to read aloud as he walked towards the shop’s small entrance. The overlay he had pulled up began feeding him information about the place as soon as his gait made it clear it was his destination.
Repair shop – electronics, portables, wearables
Owner and operator – Franklin Soulemayne Houte
The front door was open. A small curtain hung across it, obscuring the shop’s interior. Ward pushed this aside to gain entrance, only to be struck by unfamiliar smells. Atomizer, ozone, machine grease. The smells of a shop specializing in obsolete tech. On shelves arranged throughout the one-room establishment, he saw various devices with small holographics showing their prices.
Chronos, tablets, rings, HUDs, and many other examples of wearable tech he hadn’t seen in ages. Various display screens hung from the walls with video feeds streaming from them. By the rear wall, a small kiosk and another curtain stood between the merchandise and a back room, no doubt where Houte was currently busy with something.
The shop was an entirely Retro outfit.
The décor was also telling. All around the shop’s walls, there were small statues of classical deities. Next to the entrance was Mercury, on the far wall was Bacchus, and behind the kiosk was Minerva. Again, the intended symbolism was deliberately esoteric, meant to appeal only to those who were already familiar with their meaning.
Ward was one such person, and he was more than a little bit concerned by it.
There was the sound of approaching footsteps, and the curtain parted to reveal a tall, dark man. He was lanky too, though not by Jovian standards, and had his fair share of body art. A green vest was all he wore on his upper body, his hair falling about his shoulders in hundreds of tightly wound braids. When he spotted Ward, he smiled crookedly.
“Well, if it isn’t the Senior Investigating Officer, Mr. Jeremiah Ward. Back to my little corner of the universe, are yeh?”
The words flowed like water, punctuated as always by Houte’s gentle accent.
“Just passing through, Franky. Thought I’d say hello.”
“Oh?” Houte said, looking oddly offended. “So, this isn’t part of some investigation?”
Ward put on a jovial smile. In the old days, Houte and his colleague had been very good at finding out things about other people – things they weren’t otherwise entitled to know. Hence why Ward had come to him in the past when trying to find people who wanted to remain unfound.
Ward refused to believe the man was unaware of his recent bout with incarceration.
“Franky, let’s not pretend, okay? You must have wondered what happened to me, and did some investigating of your own.”
Houte shrugged. “Can’t fault a man for trying to be coy. Didn’t think ya wanted to talk about that much.”
You’d be right, Ward thought, but there was little sense in saying it. Talking about how he didn’t want to talk about it added up to the same thing. Instead, he complimented the décor.
“Nice statues. Very archaic.”
Houte smiled. He knew what Ward was hinting at. The fact he had taken note of them let him know what Ward would be asking next.
“So how long have you been Aquiline Front?” he asked coolly.
Houte bristled a little. Drawing himself up from the counter, he crossed his arms. The action forced the tats on his biceps to swell outward. The fine black patterns danced, drawing energy from the motion and forming snake-like patterns.
“So, a man redecorates and you assume he’s gone political?”
Ward feigned surprised. “Haven’t you?”
“I run a simple shop here, Mr. Ward. We provide a service, something people in the community both want and need.” He paused for a second and then shrugged. “That being said, it doesn’t hurt to raise the flag. Let people know I do business with the local patriots.”
Ward pursed his lips and nodded appreciatively. “Profound. I’m guessing they’ve become a big deal lately.”
Houte placed his hands wide, suggesting he had something profound to offer.
“It’s a foolish man who doesn’t recognize which way the wind is blowing. And it’s a complete fool who chooses not to bend with it. Much ha
s changed since you went away, Mr. Ward. The Jovians aren’t too happy with the situation. And they’re getting much more organized, and vocal.”
Ward thought back to his encounter with the young woman on the transit line. She had hardly been unambiguous about her attraction, and it was patently due to his visible status as an Extro. Then again, he had only been on Callisto for a short time. He could scarcely pretend to have a good measure of the public mood.
Besides, Valhalla was a large place. He had to imagine not everyone was on the same page right now. If some people were embracing Extropianism, it was a safe bet others would be getting a lot harder in their rejection of it.
“What brings you all this way, Mr. Ward, if not your usual work?”
So Houte wanted to cut to the chase. How was he to explain his current situation to him? That he was investigating something, but not for Interpol? That he needed information, but not on the person he was looking for? And that what he wanted was profoundly illegal, though scarcely outside of Houte’s wheelhouse?
It took barely a nanosecond to decide. He figured asking the obvious question, the very thing that had drawn him here in the first place, would be the best way to start. “I need a favor.”
Houte cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward onto the counter and placing his arms in a bow-like formation. The tats on his arms became dynamic again, this time forming into the patterns of lions reaching out with bared teeth. “A favor?”
Ward nodded. “Yeah, and it’s a bit of a challenge. It will require stealth and a lot of cunning. Not to mention accessing the Survey.”
Houte’s face darkened. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?’
“Yes.” Ward paced across the floor a little. He didn’t like the position he was putting Houte in, showing up after all these years to drop this on him. In this case, there really was no one else.
The Cronian Incident (The Formist Book 1) Page 15