Keeping It Real

by Justina Robson

  Keeping It Real

  Justina Robson

  Copyright © Justina Robson 2006

  All rights reserved

  The right of Justina Robson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2006 by Gollancz

  An imprint of the Orion Publishing Group

  Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s Lane, London WC2H 9EA

  This edition published in Great Britain in 2006 by Gollancz

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN-13 9 780 57507 907 6

  ISBN-10 0 57507 907 X

  Typeset at The Spartan Press Limited, Lymington, Hants

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham pic, Chatham, Kent www.orionbooks.co.uk

  The Orion Publishing Group’s policy is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products and made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  For Stephanie Burgis-Samphire

  COMMON KNOWLEDGE

  In the days that followed the explosion at the Superconducting Supercollider in Texas, at some unknown point in the Lost Year, 2015, scientists discovered a hole in the fabric of spacetime over the blast site. The collider itself—a ring some eighty-five kilometres in circumference built far beneath the Texas soil—had utterly vanished, and only the surface buildings remained.

  The explosion had followed an unknown quantum catastrophe inside the machine. However, it was not the kind of explosion that blew matter to smithereens and laid waste to worlds. Its actions took place in the near-infinitely tiny spaces between one raw energy flicker and the next. It transmuted fundamental particles into new states, altering the fabric of the universe as if changing cotton into silk. In less time than it takes to blink an eye everything had undergone subtle alteration, though the how and the what of it was a matter which is still debated to this day—a matter not helped by the fact that nobody could remember exactly or say with certainty how things used to be. In the meantime there were more immediate problems to deal with, namely the stable but infinitely mysterious hole inside the circle of the old collider, and the fact that it led directly into another world.

  In the five years since the Quantum Bomb, as it is popularly known in Otopia (which was once called Earth, according to records made prior to 2015), a total of five other realities have been discovered. They lie parallel to, or approximate with (all words, definitions and speculations are being assessed as we write, since nobody has yet come up with a theory that can explain the phenomena completely) the human universe.

  The first of these is Zoomenon, the realm of the Elements. Zoomenon is hostile to human life and manifests unpredictably in Otopian space where it interpenetrates with it. Sturdily equipped expeditions replete with hardened adventurers have reported the following: every raw element of the Periodic Table may be found there in abundance, from Hydrogen to Ununbium; the primary colours may be observed there, randomly moving across the raw rocks and sand of what appears to be the basic Zoomenon landscape, a place not unlike Earth in the Hadean age; there are also beings here, of indeterminate energy composition, capable of forming humanlike appearances—these are named Elemental, since they seem to be personifications of the spirits of air, fire, water, earth, wood, metal. There are others, yet to be understood or met with. How many others is unknown.

  The second realm is Alfheim. Since early in 2016 a diplomatic relationship has been established with the elves, as the inhabitants call themselves. The elves strongly dispute the QBomb theory. They claim that they have known of Earth and Otopia since times that predate early human civilisations. Few Otopian technologies function in Alfheim, which is the first of the Adept or Aetheric Realms. It is a pristine Eden, untouched by industrialisation despite the complex civilisations that have risen and fallen in its massive history. However, there are tensions within elf society and frosty diplomatic explorations are the only contact that regularly takes place with them. Their borders are closed to immigration of any kind and they allow only a few of their emissaries out in turn. Common people of Otopia know only stories of Alfheim.

  The third realm is Demonia. The demons are, like the elves, lifeforms which appear adept in magic Demon scientists have assisted humans in their discovery of the physically real presence of extradimensional regions (I-space) since 2017, regions of incredible power and vitality which seem akin to spacetime itself, yet co-exist with it. This region is known to demons and elves commonly as Aetherstream, though their scientists and researchers have agreed to adopt the human name of Interstitial, or I-space. Demons do not recognise the QBomb event as historical fact either, and also claim a lengthy knowledge of “the fourth realm”—Otopian Earth.

  The fifth region, is Thanatopia. This unlikely place is bound tightly to the I-space continuum. To cross into Thanatopia requires death and return is not possible to those not greatly skilled in necromancy. Only the Aetheric races possess necromancers, and not many of them. It is worth noting that so far no human of Otopian Earth has displayed anything other than the most fleeting ability to detect let alone manipulate, I-space. Certainly no one has ever been to Thanatopia, or, if they have, they have not returned and its true nature is a complete mystery. The only human knowledge of it has been given by demon necromancers whose strength in I-space permits them access. Officially we may state that the Undead shepherd the Dead of all realms, though what this actually means is anyone’s guess. All other knowledge concerning Thanatopia is classified, and as such may not be printed here.

  The sixth realm, which most quickly adopted protocols with Otopia and has generated the most traffic is Faery. Faery has issued tourist visas since 2018. Faery culture, as with all other realms, is unique and complicated. Faeries assure us they have had a long association with certain regions of the Earth over the more interesting parts of human history and the author is not willing to dispute the point, even—especially—in writing.

  For the last two years an increasing familiarity with and acceptance of the six-realm structure has led to a steady popularity of migration and trade across willing borders, but human beings have a lot yet to learn.

  One year ago Alfheim closed its borders and cut off trade. It began an exclusionary policy which diplomatic negotiations have so far failed to lift. The reasons for this change of heart are classified information. At the time of writing, in 2021, an uneasy state of affairs exists between Alfheim and the other realms.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The story of how The No Shows got signed was one of those legends that seem completely manufactured by the celebrity press. Rolling Stone ran it as lead story the day their first single was released for download. Lila Black reviewed it as she travelled to a meeting with the owner of Ozo Records, Jelly Sakamoto.

  A few months ago Jelly had been the producer of a modestly successful indie music label. He was sitting in his office playing a quick five-minute game of Dune Car Rally on his pod, which had become an hour long frustrating game of Dune Car Rally by the time his AftR girl burst in without warning and said breathlessly,

  “You gotta hear this!”

  Jelly was used to being told that, but he knew that Lucie was frequently right. Still, no point in breaking old habits. He saved and shrugged without looking up, “What?”

  “This great new band. They play their own gear, write their own material, and do this kind of weird heavy rock Mode-X number. The backing vocals are all faeries, the DJ is that chick from Zebra Mondo. And—get this—their lead singer is an elf!”

  “Elv
es don’t rock,” Jelly said, unknowingly coining one of the greatest quotes in the history of popular music and the phrase that would follow him to his deathbed. He added, rather more forgettably, “They pavane and jig, they play the flute and the triangle, they do orchestra, they do chant, they sell shitloads of that. They sing like cats with firecrackers up their asses. The only time they ever get sampled is when they’ve been pushed through an audio sieve so human listeners don’t shit themselves, or when they’re slowed down ten times to scrape the frequencies for distortion effects to shove behind Crash bands. So, what? Does she mime? Does she look good?”

  “Here.” Lucie threw a Berrypic of the band down on the desk. “He sings his own lyrics.”

  Jelly ignored her and the invitation of the Berry’s flashing Play command, got up and went out, allegedly to the toilet, although he claims in a later interview that he was going to fit some new EarWax with higher grade buffers, in order to protect his hearing.

  Lucie hung out waiting and when she convinced herself he must have gone down the fire escape she stormed out, leaving the Berry face-up on his empty desk. An hour later in came Roxanne, the sales director for Northern Otopia at Ozo Records, the largest music company in the Four Realm Trading Bloc. Fed up of waiting for Jelly, who was notoriously late for everything, she sat herself down in his chair and, glancing down at the Berry, pressed Play.

  Twenty minutes later Jelly comes into his own office and she says, “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be sending me a million-bytes-a-minute-shifter? I need another month at the least to prep publicity! Honestly, you’d be late for your own funeral.”

  Jelly bought Ozo Records on the first week’s sales and Lucie ran it for him in her new post as executive director, whilst he fussed around producing a whole lot of other bands and arguing with The No Shows’ volatile addict of an agent, Buddy Ritz.

  The rest, Lila reflected as she re-read the tale, was the talk of the medianets every other day of the week. There was no hotter property than The No Shows at the moment.

  Lila Black was undercover. She was pretending to be a bodyguard working for Doublesafe, a company specialising in personal security for celebrities. It was an easy job since she was already kitted out for much more active duties as part of her job in the Otopian National Security Agency’s Intelligence and Reconnaissance Division, or Incon. The only difficulty she had was in concealing those parts of her body which were entirely metal prosthetics, but she’d found a silk trouser suit and smart boots to do that for her. The synthetic skin on her hands and arms was thankfully wearing well enough to pass for the real thing. As she took a sidelong glance at herself in the mirror at Ozo Records’ Reception she saw a tall, powerful young woman in elegant black flares. Her silver eyes—the irises and pupils perfect mirrors—could easily be put down to decorative contact lenses beneath the soft swing of her ruby and scarlet hair. There was nothing to show that she was barely half a human being any longer. She enjoyed the feeling, until the receptionist popped her bubblegum and said, “Jelly’ll see you now.”

  Lila walked into the office. It hadn’t changed since the Rolling Stone shoot, except that there were two more platinum discs hanging over his desk, both printed with The No Shows logo: a heart inside a red circle with a diagonal slash across it. She stood in front of the desk and looked at Jelly as he looked at her. He was a thin, leathery whipcord of a man, brimming with nervous energy, and could barely sit still a moment.

  “Doublesafe said you were the best,” he said and shrugged, not very impressed. “I got to tell you, I don’t know. We’re getting some trouble. Letters. Threats. We have a tour to do. You look like kinda lightweight, like a kid could push you away in a crowd, or maybe even a big wind. What you got to say?” He took off his dark glasses and folded his hands under his chin. He had a gold ring on every finger.

  Lila shrugged back, also not impressed. “If we get into a crowd then I didn’t do my job. We won’t be in any crowds.” She was recording the entire conversation, sending it to her Incon boss on a secure, wireless feed the entire time, using the camera system inside her eyes.

  “Well, you don’t look too bad,” he said. “And I know shit about it all, only that I need Zal to survive the tour and make some more tracks. You cool with elves?”

  “I’m cool,” Lila said. The lie rolled easily off her tongue. She felt her heart rate go up and she would have begun sweating, but her auto-systems kicked in and masked all of her nerves with effective machine frost. Drugs and hormones from adapted glands in her neck and brain smoothed her until it was true. She was cool.

  “Good. You’re hired. You can start now. Go pick him up and take him down to the studios. He…”

  “I have all the details,” LiLa said in her most professional tone, tapping the back of her hand where an ordinary person kept their Organiser. “Your office sent me everything already.”

  “Oh yeah?” For the first time Jelly seemed fazed. Then he grinned, “I like having the mostest people working for me.” Then, “Why you still here?”

  Lila walked out. On her way to the car park she connected briefly with her boss, Cara Delaware, to tell her that the job was successful and to hear Cara say, “Great. You okay? Your reflexes showed some peak stress levels there. We can pull you if it gets too much.”

  “No,” Lila said quickly. She’d reached her bike. Its sleek, powerful lines and instant reaction to her touch on the grips had already calmed her more completely than her Al-self’s drug response to her nervousness. The doses themselves had been so low that their effect was already gone and here, where inappropriate reactions didn’t matter, the AI didn’t bother masking her true responses. The engine purred like a giant cat, making the concrete vibrate under her feet. “I’m fine.”

  “Then you’re activated,” Cara said. “Partial cover. Your support team are online when you need them. You’re operating out of central offices now. Everything goes through the team. Nobody else. Not even me.”

  “Thanks. Take care of everyone for me.” Lila thought of her dog, Okie, whom she’d had to leave at home to be looked after by her colleagues until she returned. She thought of her family, although they’d been left behind years ago when she stopped being plain diplomatic attache Lila Amanda Black and became something quite different. There was no telling when she might be back from this job, but she had agreed to one thing for certain when she agreed to live as a cyborg of the AI division instead of die of her wounds and now, no matter when the cover ended, she was never going home again.

  “Good luck, Lila.” The line cut dead. It was the first time since she had been Mended that she was really and truly on her own. Where Cara and the NSA office had been a constant, monitoring presence fresh zones of silence opened in Lila’s head. She smiled and the bike traced an arc of beautiful speed into the traffic heading downtown.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The bike didn’t talk. There were versions that did but Lila didn’t want more machines in her head than were already there. Besides, she had every A-Z of Otopia available to her from the memory chips in her skull. The address that the studio gave her for Zal’s rental home was high in the Lightwater Hills in the most exclusive area of Bay City. She rode without a helmet, her red curls rippling in the wind as she lay low across the gas tank and sped through the streets.

  Her route took her around the Bay itself, where whitecap waves were dashing in ones and twos across the water, over the vast towerless span of the elf-built bridge—the Andalune—and through the dense woodlands which crept from the water’s edge to the Heights of Solomon. Zal’s house lay over the ridge, the only clue to its presence a heavily barred iron gate set in stone posts that were almost hidden by trees. There was no postbox and no speakerphone. Lila pulled up in front and glanced up at the spikes. Behind the gates the forest thickened and the boughs of the trees leant over the road and shrouded it in darkness. Within twenty metres the drive curved away from her and was lost to sight. In the quiet she heard her engine and the sou
gh of wind in the leaves. She was surrounded by trees.

  Using the private contact numbers and her Al-self’s communication suite—nested inside her head where everyone else had to use a Pod or a Berry or a Seed to interface—she called to the security people from Doublesafe who were already inside. The gates swung inward silently and Lila moved forward in a steady glide.

  The road snaked its way steadily uphill and then into a hollow which lay at the summit of the hill. Solomon’s Folly stood there—a giant white stone house facing south. It looked through a cut swathe in the forest like a firebreak which ran over simple grassland down and down and down to a crescent of white beach and the sea. It was three storeys high for the most part, and roughly covered an area the size of two football pitches. Pieces of it had towers and other pieces had glass roofs. It had many sides and angles. Some of them were lost among trees, others seemed to teeter on or be built inside large boulders which piled along the north face of the house. It looked like it had been built one room at a time, almost randomly, without thought for anything except a sea view and an obsessive need for privacy, and so it had been. Lila felt almost ill looking at it. It was hideous. It looked as though the hollow had been created by the house’s incomprehensible weight, and that everything was sinking into the earth.

  She paused before the last descent to gawp and catch her breath. Pine needles and heavy loam and other green and rotting smells were thick in the air because the day was hot and making them rise. To her left and right she looked into the woods on maximum zoom and saw signs of a great number of wood elementals but nothing of the elusive beings themselves. You would expect elementals around elves, and in forests of any size, but you would never expect an elf to live in a house like this. It was a rental property. There could be no other explanation. Lila recorded what she saw and went on down to the main door. It stood open and as she dismounted a man in a Doublesafe uniform came to escort her inside.