Queen of Nowhere

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘She seems quite nice,’ added his mother. Oem heard the un-spoken coda:for someone from that background.

  ‘She is.’ Life was so much simpler if he just agreed with everything his parents said.

  No one felt compelled to carryon talking, and the meal trailed off into silence.

  Back in his room, he wove a path through the boxes to his desk.

  Several of those boxes contained his animatronics collection, which this new, smaller room had no place for. And neither did he, really; not anymore. Mother had started selling her vases; he should sell some of his models. He needed to adjust to their new lifestyle. That was something else he’d learned from Jerine: how it was possible to still enjoy life without those activities and luxuries you couldn’t afford. They had a place to live and enough to eat.

  The other stuff was pleasant but ultimately optional. As long as he had Jerine, the lack of credit or fame, even the shitty job - none of that really mattered.

  But there was one thing that did matter, something that went beyond his personal happiness.

  He picked up the dataspike and slotted it into his slate. Weeks without any contact from Orzabet, and now this. Time was, he’d have welcomed such personal attention from his mysterious co-conspirator. Well, not exactly welcomed, given the contents of the ‘spike, but it would have energised him into action. He saw now that his interest in possible conspiracies stemmed in part from a desire to recover the excitement of his failed sporting career. But that was before Jerine. She complicated his decision immensely, because life wasn’t just about him anymore, it was .about the two of them.

  Although he had been through everything on the ‘spike twice since he first opened the package this morning, part of him still wished he could dismiss the contents, put them down as a hoax or mistake. But all Orzabet’s protocols were in place. He played the audio file yet again. The more he listened to her intensely spoken words (Orzabet was female: that had been a surprise), the more real and inescapable their sense became …

  ‘I’m going to tell you the truth about transit-kernels. In return, you’re going to help me expose a lie that’s gone unchallenged for a thousand years.

  ‘You take an interest in such things, so you know the accepted story: how transit-kernels were developed by the Sidhe, and how the technology was stolen millennia later by the rebels who overthrew the Protectorate. Well, it wasn’t quite like that. Yes, transit-kernels are Sidhe tech, but they can only be made by Sidhe.

  That’s as true now as it was during the Protectorate.

  ‘The Sidhe are alive, Dern. Not many oft hem, but enough to impact on the future course of human history. One of the ways they shape and manipulate us is by controlling interstellar travel.

  And they do that by controlling the supply of transit-kernels.

  ‘Everyone of those black boxes was once a living being; each transit-kernel contains the central nervous system of a Sidhe.

  That’s right: the Sidhe put their own people into transit-kernels.

  Or, rather, they put the few surviving male Sidhe into them.

  Young boys, mentally limited ones at that. This all happens somewhere far from your home system; I’ve included further info on this dataspike.

  ‘I’ve also provided the shipping schedules that brought some oft he recent deliveries to Ylonis, along with the results of my investigations into the companies who create and distribute transit-kernels. It’s a twisted path; as you’ll see when you check the data, the real origins are well hidden.

  ‘You’re at the sharp end, Dern. What you see is the final result: technology capable of propelling a ship through shiftspace. I’m sure most people at Starscape never consider the source oft he kernels. But there are individuals in that company who are in on the secret. More importantly, you have a Sidhe agent in your midst: she’s aware oft he full truth and determined to keep it hidden. Her name is Fera Yasmie. I’ve given you everything I have on her.

  M a result of events elsewhere, I can confirm that the supply oft ransit-kernels has dried up for the foreseeable future, possibly for ever. I’m sure you’re smart enough to work out that this has serious implications for human-space, but you have to remember that the way things are now is a lie, a sham. We aren’t free oft he Sidhe: they’re still here, hiding in the shadows.

  ‘Fera Yasmie is a blight, a cancer in the heart of Starscape. She has to be removed.

  ‘I’m not asking you to do anything illegal or dangerous. The info I’ve provided is enough to incriminate her. When you go through it you’ll see that her actual crime, the law she has broken, is use of a jalJe ID. That alone is enough to have her up before the Commission. And once someone like her comes under close scrutiny, it’ll all fall apart. The Sidhe only maintain their hold while they remain out ofs ight.

  ‘Some of the enclosed data will go to others in positions of power in your system, but that’s not enough. I need you to bring Yasmie to the attention of the authorities at Ylonis at the same time as other action is taken. Do it anonymously if you must, but there has to be corroboration, more than one voice calling for action. I need you to make the actual request to apprehend this Sidhe menace. You are a vital part of my plan, Dern Morvil. I implore you to do what you know to be right.’

  Even before he had invested himselfin a worldview and subculture where people entertained unlikely possibilities, Dern had had an interest in such things. Given the evidence - which Orzabet had provided - he was ready to believe. But was he ready to act?

  ESTRIS

  (The Ice Coast, Tetrial Beta, Tetrial System)

  Estris never told her sister about Orzabet. However, she continued to use the beevee connection even after it stopped being a tool to relieve her anger, even when her job-hunting began to payoff and the first interviews came in. She stayed in touch with Orzabet because this was one thing in her life her older sister had no part of.

  Then the package arrived. It came in the same week as her trial period with her new employers. The job paid less than her old one and it was only in Hunterport, so she was unlikely to be moving back to the capital anytime soon. On the other hand, she could commute from Astren’s place until she found her feet and sorted accommodation neater the office.

  The package had customs stickers, which confused her: who, for Mithras’ sakes, would go to the expense of sending her a physical object from another star-system? It wasn’t until she opened it and found the dataspike that she linked the delivery to the cryptic transmission she had received from her out-of-system contact a couple of months back. Alone in her room at the beach house, she applied Orzabet’s codekey to the ‘spike. Snow flurries hurled themselves against the window as she listened to the female voice explaining intently how there was indeed a conspiracy to suppress certain technologies, and how this conspiracy was ancient and widespread. Dynosys were involved in something huge, just as Astren had jokingly suggested. And now Estris had a chance to act against her ex-employers; more than that, she could be part of a fightback taking place across human-space.

  Suddenly light-headed, Estris paused the recording. Perhaps this was what she had seen in Orzabet, what had made her stand out from the delusional idiots who posted their crazy theories without any corroboration or logic. Orzabet was onto something big. She smiled to herself: Astren might write about history, but Estris was being given the chance to participate in it - if she dared.

  She took a few calming breaths and restarted the recording.

  Orzabet wished her to forward certain information about a particular individual in Dynosys to the branch of the policiat that dealt with extra-territorial crimes. Orzabet said she could give the tip-off anonymously - Estris’s smile turned grim at that comment - but she had to make her report at a specified time. Estris recognised the name of the individual in question: she was the head of Dynosys’s R&D division, one of the most powerful people in the company. Estris had never met Nema Lastre, but it was reasonable to assume she was ultimately behind the suppression of the te
ch breakthroughs, and hence responsible for Estris’s own woes. Odd that it was just one person; much as Estris liked the idea of there being a single focus for her anger, she had expected the problem to be more widespread.

  As though anticipating the question, Orzabet’s recording went on to explain who - or rather what - Nema Lastre was.

  When the recording finished, Estris stared at her slate. Then she replayed the last segment. The Sidhe? For Mithras’ sakes!

  But Orzabet was perfectly serious. Her delivery didn’t falter.

  She really believed that this otherwise plausible-sounding conspiracy originated with long-dead aliens.

  Apparently one of those aliens had indirectly shafted Estris.

  And now she was being asked to return the favour. Not anonymously, though. Orzabet obviously didn’t realise how the policiat worked. Estris’s name would be associated with whatever action was taken, possibly openly via the news media. That definitely broke the terms of her non-disclosure agreement. Was it a price worth paying to get revenge?

  And then there was Astren. Estris could picture her sister’s face when she found out that Dynosys’s actions allegedly originated with a Sidhe. Astren had a distinctive laugh, a sort of dismissive snort, which she used whenever she came across people who expressed half-baked knowledge of the subject she had studied in depth. Estris could hear her now; Astren would say something like, Don’t confuse fairy tales with facts, little sister. And she was right: when it came to history, Astren knew what she was talking about.

  Estris sighed, and ejected the dataspike.

  CHANDIN

  (Cyalt Hub)

  This message from ‘Orb’ was far longer than anything Chandin’s mysterious contact had sent him previously. Or, rather, it came with a significant volume of associated data. It also arrived via an unexpected route.

  Although the Commission had access to priority beevee channels, its officers avoided squandering the taxes they took from every inhabitant of human-space, even if those taxes amounted to little more than the price of a round of drinks in a given individual’s lifetime. Therefore high-volume, non-urgent data was transported on dataspikes. This particular dataspike contained scans of some of the oldest Treaty records, the ones recorded on actual paper and kept in temperature-controlled vaults on hubs with the facilities to store such delicate material. The bulk of the documents had been requested by one of his top company-law specialists, who was seeking a ruling on a particularly obscure dispute within a trans-system corporation. However, Chandin had appended a ‘would be nice’ request, asking for records related to the Sidhe’s demise, a cleansing whose efficiency and brutality would be horrific had it had not come at the end of millennia of tyranny.

  Finding a second dataspike in the package was a shock. After having applied the best data-cleansing routines he possessed to the mysterious ‘spike, he checked its contents and found hundreds of individual datafiles, and one audiofile, all of them encrypted. He concluded that this dataspike might well originate with his mysterious blackmailer. His father could learn a thing or two from Orb, he thought wryly. (As he had expected, there had been no further developments since their last, uncomfortable encounter.

  He doubted he would hear from the man again.) Chand in was no expert at databreaking, but it was logical to assume that all the files had been encrypted in the same way. Sure enough, when he applied the key Orb had transmitted previously, it unscrambled a file he picked at random from the dataspike.

  He decoded the audio header file. It was a recording of a woman, speaking low and earnestly.

  ‘Use these files to help humanity. That’s what the Commission is for, and that’s what I need you to do.

  ‘Assuming you do as I ask you have my word that all records of your indiscretion will be wiped. No one will ever know what happened twenty-five years ago.

  ‘If you choose not to act, then I have nothing to lose by making certain of your colleagues in the Commission aware of-‘

  He paused the recording. He could visualise Tanlia’s face when she heard the news. Part of her would be genuinely apologetic as she took away everything he had worked for. But part of her would be triumphant. And Gerys: how would she react? Would their marriage survive if his wife discovered he had hidden something so important from her for all these years?

  He could lose everything. But he doubted Orb would have gone to this much trouble unless she was about to request something major. And if he complied, doing her bidding might destroy his career just as effectively.

  He restarted the recording.

  ‘-your mistake. More importantly, if you don’t do this, you are a traitor to our race.’

  ‘Orb’ obviously believed what she was saying but that last comment smacked of mental instability. He tuned back in to the recording.

  ‘This dataspike contains intel on over five hundred individuals.

  Wherever possible, these individuals must be apprehended and detained.

  The information I have provided is enough to build cases against nearly half of them. As for the rest … I’m under no illusions: we can’t get them all. But we have to try.’

  As Chandin wondered how she expected him to go about this near-impossible task, the recording continued:

  ‘I realise the Commission has no jurisdiction over individual systems.

  However, the strongest cases are against those who have perpetrated inter-system ID-jraud, and that is your responsibility. You can request investigations into at least one hundred and eighty-two people on those grounds.

  ‘[ know how these things work: you put in a request, acting on information the Commission has uncovered, and your liaisons in local law decide the best way to implement it. Sometimes they’ll stall, because they have more pressing business, or because of local politics you’re unaware of Other times, they jump. This will only work ift hey jump.

  In most of the systems in my files, your official request won’t be the only one they receive. Local agents in possession of the same data will be reporting to the authorities in their home systems.

  ‘A.s I’m sure you appreciate, timing is key. Your messages need to arrive in coordination with those from my agents. The data must be transmitted, and the requests made, on the date I specify.’

  Shocked and disturbed as he was, Chand in couldn’t help but admire Orb’s ambition. She wasn’t messing around.

  ‘I would prefer to use dataspikes, but that isn’t practical. Therefore you will need to employ the Commission’s own resources, utilising priority beevee services with maximum encryption.’

  Sweet void, she wasn’t asking much, was she?

  ‘There’s one more thing, and I wasn’t sure whether to tell you this, but it’s only fair that I do.’

  For the first time Orb’s voice showed uncertainty.

  ‘When you check the files you’ll notice all the targets are female.

  There’s a reason for that, and it’s one you may find hard to credit… ‘

  Chandin listened to the remainder of the recording in horrified fascination.

  When it finished, he walked over to the window. Evening was falling and the roofshine had deepened from azure to bronze, painting the hab’s terraces in a warm golden glow. This was real: Cyalt station, the Commission offices, the people he cared about.

  Not some crazy conspiracy in which the Sidhe - the Sidhe! - were alive and well and still secretly in control. Orb had been painfully sincere as she matter-of-factly explained how the culture Chandin had sworn to protect was not what he thought it was.

  That didn’t mean she was right. He would be as crazy as her if he abused Commission resources, not to mention impugning the Commission’s integrity on the word of a single lunatic, no matter how fervent and apparently well informed she was.

  But if he didn’t, then she would destroy him.

  He returned to his desk and unmounted Orb’s dataspike then slotted in the other, expected, one. He needed to ground himself.

  The files he h
ad requested for his colleague were all in order so he sent them straight over. On a whim, he opened the archive scans he had asked for under his own auspices.

  As darkness fell outside, he lost himself in momentous decisions he hadn’t had to make. Some of the choices taken during the formative years of the Treaty Commission had been perceptive and wise, the wisdom of lone voices that saw the way forward despite opposition. Other choices had, in hindsight, been nearly disastrous. A lot of the latter were made by people who had underestimated their enemies.

  The female Sidhe had always been a minority, ruling largely through fear and ignorance. The males had probably been even less numerous, and had already disappeared from history by the time the Treaties were drawn up. (Or possibly been written out: Chandin had found some interesting if obscure references to the old machine-melded males and their antipathy towards the other half of their race. He hoped to find time to follow up on this some day.)

  Once humanity had finally woken up and turned against the female Sidhe, their extinction had been swift. But had it been complete? Millions of Sidhe had been killed in coordinated action; those who escaped had been ruthlessly hunted down. Just as the male Sidhe’s final fate never made it into the surviving accounts, the human records of the fall of the Protectorate focused on humanity’s victories, and glossed over the failures. From what he had read, in these files and others, it was possible that a few Sidhe had got away.

  What if Orb wasn’t crazy after all? What if she was the lone voice of reason, however unlikely that initially appeared?

  He was an agent of the organisation set up to restore humanity after the dark days of the Sidhe Protectorate. If Orb was telling the truth, he could not afford to ignore what she had sent him.

  NEWSHOUND

  The two months leading up to R-Day were the busiest of Bez’s life.

  She could never have brought everything together so quickly while living her usual peripatetic lifestyle. As it was, the task of priming her agents and securely distributing the intel they would need kept her busy twenty-plus hours a day. She paused only grudgingly, when physical distractions like hunger or exhaustion began to affect her judgement and performance.