Queen of Nowhere

by Jaine Fenn

  Although they were both hubbers by birth, and had seen the crater of Cyalt station from most angles, it was only up here near the rim that the enclosed world of three million souls could be fully appreciated.

  Chandin, coming up to stand beside her, had to agree the view was spectacular. They were almost, but not quite, close enough to the curved, blue-tinted roof to make out details of its construction.

  The sculpted terraces lining the gently sloping walls were arrayed before them. The lowermost buildings, down on the crater floor, were largely covered over - constantly seeing richer, luckier people looking down on you was somewhat oppressive for those who had to live down there, as Chandin well knew - but most of the homes, bars and offices in Floorville still boasted brightly coloured or holo-decorated roofs, which from this height blurred together into a seething dish of colour and flash. Further up the side wall, block housing gave way to the terraces proper, and gaudy holos were replaced by more tasteful foliage. In some of the residential districts the living covering of greens, golds and reds almost obscured the homes it grew across. The plants became more restrained up in the administrative levels but they were still present, along with sculptures and other tasteful ornamentation. Occasional changes in use broke the pattern up here, from the glass-panelled reception area backing on to the docks on the planetoid’s surface to the rainbow-traced water gardens, a masterful example of grav-based trickery that was in itself reason enough for tourist liners to stop at Cyalt.

  Busy though he was, Chandin waited for Tanlia to turn away from the window. Finally, her voice heavy with apparent regret, she said, ‘I suppose we should get to work.’

  ‘We’d better, hadn’t we?’ he concurred in a similar tone.

  The inevitable barb came as she turned away, and was delivered barely loud enough for him to hear. ‘It’s a shame the angle doesn’t give you a better view of the water gardens.’

  Chandin repressed a smile. Once, a comment like that might have riled him. Although such sniping had no effect these days, they were both too old and set in their ways to change the rules of their relationship, even if that relationship had moved on im-measurably in the decades since they had, with the naivety of youth, thought they might be lovers for life. He said, ‘And how’s your new office?’ She had also got a promotion, even if it was not the one she had wanted.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she said warmly. He half expected her to invite him to come and see for himself, and was almost disappointed when she didn’t.

  Tanlia waited for him to sit, and to tell her whether she should position herself beside him, like an equal, or across the desk, like a subordinate - which, for the first time in their joint rise through the ranks of the Commission, she was.

  Chandin said, ‘Shall we sit at the conference table?’ The floor space of this office significantly exceeded that of his and Gerys’s first apartment. He gestured for Tanlia to take the seat at the head of the long glass-topped table, then sat down at right angles to her and called up an overview of the agenda they had both agreed on.

  It included everything Chand in’s predecessor had been responsible for, along with the areas Chand in and Tanlia had worked on together previously; effectively, she now had his old job, albeit with increased responsibility and status.

  Today was merely the opening of negotiations. Chand in both dreaded and anticipated the coming weeks, as the lines of responsibility and power were redrawn. But whatever else was between them, they understood each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and cared about their work. Contrary to the two conflicting holodrama representations of the Pan-Human Treaty Commission, it was neither staffed by power-hungry despots exercising undue influence over hapless worlds, nor by faceless bureaucrats mindlessly obsessed with the minutiae of shiftship licensing and interstellar import laws. The power the Commission wielded was executive and had no direct impact on the day-to-day lives of the vast majority of humanity; the function of the Treaties was to ease and police the interfaces between the 933 independent states - hubs, worlds and multi-planet systems - comprising human-space. He and Tanlia would never have risen as high as they had without the ability to see the bigger picture and leave the details to trusted subordinates.

  By mutual agreement they began with relatively straightforward matters that only tangentially impacted their division.

  The Treaties the Commission enforced had been drawn up soon after the Protectorate fell, when humans were reconstructing their culture after millennia of oppression; though comprehensive, they were also a thousand years old. Times changed, and Legal’s primary role was to use modern precedents to reinterpret documents written in another age. It was important work, ideal for those who enjoyed doing a thorough job, but theirs was one of the smaller divisions in the Commission. If he and Tanlia had followed similar career paths in Financial or Trade, they would have been unlikely to end up in direct competition for the same, top position.

  The first item on the slate was Recruitment and Training.

  Chandin was grateful for the Commission’s policy of recruiting bright students from poor backgrounds, but was happy to have responsibility for the entry-level interstellar law programme revert to Tanlia’s office ..

  The second item was Historical Documentation. Another one for Tanlia, whose role made her less of a figurehead than Chandin.

  Tanlia gave him a rueful smile and said, ‘I know you’ll miss this job.’ She had always held Chandin’s interest in obscure documents from Protectorate times to be an affectation, irrelevant to the Commission’s current role.

  She had a point, but Chandin relished such irrelevancy; he enjoyed tracing the course of decisions made long ago for which he bore no responsibility and whose eventual outcomes he knew.

  ‘I can always take up archive-surfing as a hobby in my new-found spare time,’ he said heartily.

  Tanlia raised an eyebrow at that.

  Next came Hub Liaison, which, after some discussion, Chandin acknowledged was one for him.

  Chandin glanced up at the change in the quality of light; the view outside had faded to twilight and the office lights had brightened to compensate. He straightened up and rubbed his aching neck. ‘Do you want to call it a day - well, evening - yet?’ he asked.

  Given what the item after next was, he would prefer to stop soon.

  ‘Or I can order refreshments, and we can plough on,’ he added, before she could disagree on principle.

  ‘How about a drink and we’ll carryon for a while … unless you need to get back to your family.’

  He ignored the implied slight - Tanlia knew it would be several hours before he could justify going home - and called for a jug of caf. The drinks arrived with commendable efficiency - another testament to his new status.

  Sorting out the basics of the internal audit process took longer than expected, and when they sat back Tanlia said, ‘I don’t know about you, but I reckon IDOB’s going to need a session all to itself.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ he said, letting only the expected level of relief show in his voice. The Identity Oversight Bureau, with its absurd acronym and far-reaching powers, had been Chandin’s main responsibility for the last nine years. Sometimes it had felt like the main focus of his life. Now that he was the face at the top of his division, it made sense to hand over most of that responsibility, and Tanlia was the obvious person to take it on. That did not mean he was comfortable with letting it go.

  They stood up. ‘Same time tomorrow?’ he said.

  ‘The sooner we get these initial decisions made, the sooner I can get down to some real work,’ she said.

  He accompanied her to the door, where they said goodnight, with Tanlia adding, ‘Do give my best to Gerys, won’t you?’

  His wife and his ex-lover got on surprisingly well. Once, after a rather boozy dinner, when he was clearing up in the kitchen and Tanlia’s latest ornamental boy was in the bathroom, Chand in had overheard Gerys and Tanlia laughing raucously together.

  Afterwa
rds, Gerys had admitted with a smile that, yes, they were talking about him and no, he did not want to know the details.

  Tanlia was as important to him, in her way, as Gerys was.

  She was his foil: predictably annoying, relentlessly stubborn, but ultimately competent and with a high degree of professional integrity. But he must never forget that her frivolous and sometimes disconcertingly intimate manner disguised an iron will and a razor-sharp mind.

  That was why he wanted to be at his best when they discussed the changes in IDOB. He knew his fears were not entirely rational: The Mistake was a detail, hidden far below the notice of anyone at his - or Tanlia’s - rank. But if she, or anyone else, uncovered it … he was finished.

  OTHER BEVERAGES ARE AVAILABLE

  Designation: Target136

  Human alias: Irivera Kendine

  Position: Freetrader Captain

  Location: The Missed Symphony

  Vulnerabilities Although Target136 has no criminai record, she and her first officer have been accused of flouting spacer regulations by the Starliner Guild, specifically regarding staff rotation; however, the accusations may stem in part from the usual jealousy the Guild feels towards rival, cut-price operators

 

  Bez blinked furiously, the shock of her sudden exit from the virtuality still resonating through her.

  She smelled old cheese and shivered at the touch of freezing, dust-laden air. The world swum into partial focus, revealing two figures silhouetted in the light from the open door. One held a small flashlight in its hand. They were both advancing towards her.

  If she had any doubts that she was fully back in the real, they were dispelled by this unwelcome sight.

  ‘Can you hear us, medame?’

  The one that spoke was a man. He sounded polite enough but Bez’s stupid, weak body was currently going through the full gamut of fight/flight responses, and speech was beyond her.

  ‘Tags say she’s Peralene Carshay, freelance environmental tech.’

  That was a man too, and there was something wrong with the shape of his head.

  ‘Perhaps she’s had an accident,’ said normal-head, playing his light over her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away. As the beam moved on she made herself look properly at the men. Her vision was already adjusting and she recognised the uniforms.

  Hub-law. Again. She reminded herself that she had a solid ID and was authorised to be here.

  ‘Perhaps she was in virtual,’ said helmet-head.

  Uh-oh.

  His companion opined, ‘Yeah, looks like dumpshock to me.’

  This could be as serious as the Estrante debacle. She had to think of something to say, fast. Assuming she could speak at all.

  ‘I…’ she managed. Now her vision had cleared she could see that funny-head was actually wearing a tactical heads-up helmet. Ah good, said some dumb, animal part of her, it’s not a monster after all.

  ‘Sorry?’ said normal-head. ‘What was that?’

  She managed to whisper, ‘Had a bit too much.’

  ‘Too much what?’

  ‘T’drink.’ She had no trouble slurring her words.

  ‘Y ou had a bit too much to drink,’ repeated helmet-head. He didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Yes!’ Her vision kept flicking towards the open door behind the men. ‘Had a bit too much to drink and couldn’t find my way back to my hotel. Must’ve fallen asleep here.’

  ‘Right. I don’t want to imply anything, but we’ve just had a tip-off about an attempted databreak at the offices of the Freetraders’ Alliance.’

  Which explained why they were here. Shit.

  Normal-head said, ‘Did you know anything about that, medame? Or are your reactions, reminiscent of someone recently dumped from virtual, plus your physical proximity to that location, merely a coincidence?’

  In situations like this, thought Bez, Sidhe powers would come in really useful. She could have said something like, It is a coincidence, and you will now forget I was ever here, then simply walked out.

  ‘We’re waiting,’ said helmet-head.

  For what? A bribe? Perhaps. Tarset beat-cops were not incorruptible.

  Normal-head said, ‘Are you contracted with anyone right now?’

  It took her a moment to work out what he meant. ‘No.1 was looking for work.’ She managed a sickly grin. ‘Not much luck.

  That’s why I was, er, drowning my sorrows.’

  Normal-head said, ‘We would prefer to give you the benefit of the doubt. The station needs technicians, and you’ve no record.’

  ‘Thank you. Listen, if you could overlook this, I’d be really grateful.’ How should she phrase it? ‘I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, so if you, er…’

  ‘Before we decide whether or not we’ve been inconvenienced,’

  said helmet-head, ‘why don’t you let us check you lack the appropriate head ware to be the alleged databreaker?’

  The alleged databreaker. With Estrante she had at least had a decent deception in her favour, not to mention time to work out what to do. This was happening too fast. She initiated an emergency shutdown on her hacking suite, but it would take a while.

  She had to buy herself time, or better still, buy off the cops.

  ‘I have credit,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you were out of work?’ said normal-head, a little coldly.

  ‘No, I’ve got some. Enough to compensate you for any trouble I’ve caused.’

  ‘I don’t know about my colleague here,’ said normal-head, ‘but I want to know why you’re suddenly sounding so sober, and so spooked.’

  Bez stared at them, out of useful responses.

  Helmet-head crouched down. ‘Right. I’m going to run a scan now. Kindly look straight at me, focusing on the helmet’s eye patch.

  It won’t take a moment, and it won’t hurt. If it comes up negative then we can all be on our way, can’t we?’

  She closed her eyes. This was not how it was meant to end. It was too mundane, too avoidable, too random.

  ‘Medame, please! Open your eyes.’

  ‘Hello?’

  She felt the guards shift at the sound of the new voice. She opened one eye to a slit and peered past them. Someone was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Yes, sirrah?’ said normal-head to the newcomer.

  ‘I noticed a light on in the Alliance offices,’ said the newcomer.

  ‘I commed Control and they said you two were in the vicinity and would check it out.’ It was a man, and he spoke with an air of authority, like he expected the guards to jump.

  To Bez’s surprise, helmet-head did. Or at least stood up and said crisply, ‘Of course, sirrah. Happy to help. Actually, we have the possible culprit right here.’

  Bez risked a soft overlay. The newcomer’s tags claimed he was a resident of Tarset, but provided no name or occupation.

  ‘Ah. Did he - sorry, she,’ the man corrected himself as he looked more closely at Bez, ‘walk through the wall, then?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sirrah, I’m not sure I-‘

  ‘I think there was, and possibly still is, someone in the Alliance offices. That’s “in” as in physically inside.’

  ‘We’ll look into that right now,’ said normal-head. He made to leave, but helmet-head wasn’t going to let it go. ‘Our concern with Medame Carshay here was as a possible databreaker. We were informed of an incursion on the Alliance system.’

  ‘Were you now?’ said the man. ‘And might that message about a databreak have come from an inexperienced clerk on the night-shift who misread the incident code and gave you incorrect information? Databreak and break-in: easy mistake to make.’

  ‘Er, yes, that’s possible, sirrah.’

  ‘More than possible, I’d say, given Control told me they’d informed you of the potential break-in.’ The man shook his head as if disappointed at finding himself surrounded by idiots.

  The guards appeared to reach a decisio
n. ‘Right, sirrah,’ said helmet-head, ‘we’ll go and check it out.’

  ‘You do that.’

  The man moved aside to let the guards pass. Bez hoped he would follow them out but he stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Bez got the impression he was smiling.

  ‘So,’ she said to break the awkward silence, ‘is it all right if! go now?’ She didn’t want to be here when hub-law came back after finding there was no breakin.

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Right.’

  As she was standing up carefully he said, ‘Unless you want to come for a caf?’

  ‘A caf?’

  ‘That’s right: hot drink made from fermented and flash-frozen beans, containing a mild stimulant. You know the stuff.’

  Bez wished she could see his expression.

  ‘So, do you?’ he persisted. ‘Unless you don’t like caf. Other beverages are available.’

  ‘Yes. 1 mean no. 1 mean … with you?’

  ‘With me, yes.’

  He sounded amused; was he mocking her? She remembered adolescent situations not entirely unlike this. Those memories still made her cheeks burn. ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because…’ Because that’s what normal people do. She could hardly say that. ‘I have to go now. Get an early night,’ she said in a rush. Then, realising how that could be taken, she added, even more hurriedly, ‘I need to be up early in the morning. To look for work.’

  Was he disappointed? Annoyed? All he said was, ‘Of course. If you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said firmly.

  He moved back, though not entirely out of the way. Bez ended up banging her shoulder on the doorframe in order to keep her distance. Possibly thanks to her screwed-up senses she caught a whiff of him as she passed; a disconcertingly pleasant scent, slightly musky.

  She wondered if she should thank him for his offer, but that might imply she wanted to accept it. Instead she muttered, ‘Good night,’ and hurried away.

  He called after her: ‘Good night, then, Medame, urn, Carshay.’