Alameche shook his head. ‘With respect, Cabinet Member Trask, Ambassador Eskjog may represent power – and it certainly represents money, as we all know – but it does not represent omnipotence. I am not sure it can make the thing work any more than we can.’
Trask shook his head irritably. ‘So what’s your point?’
Alameche smiled at the old man. ‘The power of the unknown.’ He looked round at the others. ‘Let’s keep people guessing. If it is suspected – not known, mind you, definitely not known – that we have something like this, what is more natural than for the Spin to divide into two camps: those who would take it from us and those who would rather it stayed where it was, well protected and unused.’
Guivirse blew out his cheeks. ‘And how long would it take for those two camps to meet around us like jaws?’
‘Ah.’ The Patriarch sat back. ‘I begin to see.’
‘Exactly.’ Alameche smiled again. ‘Well protected, gentlemen. We will of course need weaponry to achieve that. Money. A seat, even, at the tables of the Hegemony.’ He placed his hands palm down on the table. ‘A role as custodians of the most powerful weapon in the Spin? With everyone doing their best to keep it unused?’ He turned to the Patriarch and inclined his head. ‘The fear of the unknown, based on hints and denials. My plan, Excellency.’
Trask made a popping noise with his lips. ‘And these weapons. Your Ambassador again?’
Alameche nodded. ‘It, and the investments it represents.’
There was silence. Alameche could feel his heart beating. He kept his hands pressed on the table, hard enough to make the pulse in his fingers tap against the cold stone.
Eventually the Patriarch sat up straight. ‘Very well. Inaction seems a strange route to glory, but as usual you have made the strange seem plausible. Now, the Games begin soon. We must be there, you know. In person.’ He stood, and they jumped to their feet. ‘This must not leave this room, gentlemen. Alameche, keep me closely informed.’
He turned and strode out of the room. The others filed out after him, nodding to Alameche as they passed. The last one to leave was Trask. As he passed Alameche the old man stopped. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do with our doubles, out of interest? The usual?’
‘Of course.’ Alameche shrugged. ‘They can’t be allowed to live, can they?’
Trask looked at him steadily. ‘Sometimes I think I am too old for this,’ he said eventually. ‘Good night.’
Catastrophe, Catastrophe Curve
THE WALK-IN SURGERY resembled a war zone. Fleare looked doubtfully at the waiting area. ‘Really?’
‘Really. Someone you don’t know shot you with something nasty. You have to get checked out. Plus, you’re still bleeding.’ Jez pushed her firmly in the back. ‘Just step over the bodies.’
The doc was a small, elderly-looking androgynous creature with over-long limbs and large, wet eyes set in a sallow face. It smelled slightly swampy. They paid extra to jump the queue, and extra again to bribe the doc not to upload the results to Catastrophe’s medical database. As Fleare made to step into the scanner the doc grunted and held her back. ‘No jewellery,’ it said, pointing at her neck.
‘What? Oh.’ She had forgotten that she was wearing the covert version of Muz. Slowly she took hold of the beads and lifted them, feeling the chain parting itself unbidden at the back of her neck. Then the necklace was lying in her hands, looking somehow dead. She shuddered and handed it to Jezerey. ‘Look after this for me.’
She stepped into the scanner feeling naked.
The machine hummed and extended a spray of fine, translucent tendrils. She felt them brush, explore, and settle around her shoulder. They rested there for a moment, then flickered over the rest of her body and withdrew. She looked at the doc. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes.’ It was staring at a holo display. ‘No poisons, no recent implants, no fresh nano.’ It looked at the display a little longer, then frowned and glanced at Fleare. ‘You have an extensive existing suite which obviously I can’t have seen because such things are illegal under Hegemony law and doubtful even here. It is opaque to me, which suggests that it is military in origin. My equipment is civilian; if someone were to interfere with your modifications it wouldn’t tell me. That whole area is your business.’
‘Damn right it is.’ Jezerey handed Muz back to Fleare. ‘That’s what we paid for. Come on, Fle.’
Fleare hooked the necklace round her neck. As the beads settled against her skin she thought she felt them push themselves slightly into her. Then the sensation stopped. But she didn’t feel naked any more. She waited while the doc sprayed a skin patch on to her shoulder. It stung briefly, and then went numb as the patch set into a fair imitation of her natural skin tone. She flexed her arm experimentally. ‘Okay, that feels good.’ She turned to the doc. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘Welcome. Go well.’ The big eyes narrowed. ‘Try not to come back. This is not the Hegemony, not yet, but nor is it quite so isolated as we may like to think. Next time I might have to tell someone.’
The cab was a two-wheeled device, short and narrow to suit the winding alleys of the Old City. They sat above each other within the slim wooden frame on seats that were halfway to being saddles. Above them, the top of the frame contained a slim buoyancy bag which provided enough upward lift to stop the vehicle from keeling over. Below them, a humming circular casing contained a big flywheel that doubled as energy store and gyroscope. In front of them, the cab jockey sat. And talked.
‘Your first time in the Curve?’ And without waiting for an answer: ‘I’ve been here three cycles, near on.’
Fleare felt a reply was needed. ‘Where were you before?’
‘Inboard.’ The driver cleared his throat, turned his head to the side and spat. The cab swayed. He swore, reached up and twisted a handle. There was a hiss, and the bag above their heads fluttered and swelled.
Fleare frowned and looked down at Jezerey, who mouthed ‘Cordern.’ She nodded, and looked back at the jockey. ‘Why did you come here?’
He laughed hoarsely. ‘Wouldn’t’a lived three cycles there. Wouldn’t’a lived longer’n about three days. Invasion, see? The Fortunate. Ha fucking ha.’
‘So how did you get here?’
‘Ha!’ He spat again. ‘Humanitarian transport, they called it. Still took a year’s pay offa me. Six days in the belly of an old freighter with no food and no khazis.’ He laughed. ‘I’m still looking for the guy who took the money.’
Fleare counted in her head. ‘Three cycles,’ she said. ‘How old were you when you left, then?’
‘Almost two cycles. Figure I must be about five times your age, ladies.’ He turned round in his saddle and winked. ‘Reckon I could still show you the way, though.’
A movement caught Fleare’s eye. She looked down. Jezerey was miming throwing up.
They paid off the unrequited cab jockey in front of a plain wall, twice Fleare’s height. Above the wall, a greenish penumbra marked the track of a stun field.
Fleare wrinkled her brow. ‘Jez, this is the city wall.’
‘Give the girl a prize.’
‘So what do we do, jump it?’
‘Only if you want to.’ Jezerey pointed. ‘Me, I’d use the door.’
Fleare followed the gesture. Now it had been pointed out, she had to admit the door was fairly obvious. It looked reinforced.
‘It’s not welcoming,’ she said doubtfully.
‘It’ll be fine. You coming or not?’
Things happen at boundaries. The Tanks had happened at a particularly acute one, and it had therefore happened with particular gusto.
Land inside the city of Catastrophe was fairly safe, ultimately limited and very, very expensive. Land outside was basically free, but very, very dangerous. One obvious solution, if you could manage it, was to extend the safety of the city out into the land beyond. There had been several answers to that implied question. The Tanks was the best and, so far, the most durable.
> Suppose there had been a local war, mainly about money. Suppose that a load of left-over war machines had been stranded just outside the city walls. Suppose that an imaginative person had persuaded someone else to lend them enough money not only to buy up the stranded machines, but to weld them together into a sort of autonomous armoured mini-city.
It had worked. Most of the old war machines had viable nuclear power plants, and enough of them had functioning air and water engines. A few still had weaponry. The result was a deeply protected, self-maintaining, self-governing micro-state with very few problems except that of making regular payments on the colossal, and colossally expensive, loans which had set it up in the first place.
Inside, the Tanks smelled of the sweat, or equivalent, of half a dozen species and the fumes-of-choice of as many more again. As soon as they were inside, Muz had evaporated from necklace-form and reverted to being a dust cloud. She frowned at him. ‘I thought Catastrophe didn’t deal with people like you?’
‘It doesn’t, but we just left Catastrophe. The Tanks runs its own legal system. Same as the airships, see?’
‘And Catastrophe plays along?’
‘Sure, as long as there’s money in it.’ The dust flowed downwards like a waterfall. ‘Freedom! Feels good.’ Then it reverted to cloud shape. ‘Besides, this is a tough joint. If I need to weigh in, I’m fastest from this form.’
‘Right.’ Fleare stared at the cloud for a moment. ‘Listen, Muz, about weighing in and stuff, are you,’ she sought for words, ‘that is, can anything, you know, bother you?’ From the corner of her eye she saw Jezerey paying attention.
‘Bother? What are you talking about?’
‘I mean threaten. Damage.’
‘Whoa, honey!’ The cloud formed a pulsing exclamation mark. ‘That’s like wandering up and asking someone where they keep the big red button. Especially when you ask in here.’
Fleare blushed. ‘Sorry.’
‘No problem. So, shall we watch the floor show?’
‘Yeah. No, wait.’ Fleare pointed at Muz. ‘I don’t want to stop you because it looks great, but why the images?’
‘Shit, you choose your times.’ The dust flowed slowly downwards. She reached out a hand and it gathered a soft, dusty covering that felt faintly warm. ‘I don’t have a face, Fleare. When I first got out of the jar, I used to make the shape of my old face, but it felt, I don’t know, just wrong. So I kind of – cartoon. Is that an answer?’
She nodded, and looked down at the dusty covering. For a moment it had felt like having her hand held. ‘I like it,’ she said.
The main stage was within an opened-out cluster of Main Battle Units. Around its edges, the halved shells of smaller vehicles formed irregular booths. They chose one that looked as if it had once been part of an armoured personnel carrier, and Jezerey signalled to one of the servitor trays that hung from ceiling-mounted tracks. ‘Chance of the House, three times,’ she said. ‘Acknowledge.’
‘Chance of the House, three times.’ The tray’s voice was like rattling cutlery. It tilted and swung away, its wheel clicking irritably against the track.
‘Chance of the House?’ Fleare shook her head slowly. ‘Jez, what have you just ordered?’
‘I have no idea. Chance, see?’ She sighed happily. ‘It’s usually human-drinkable.’
‘Usually? Oh good.’ Fleare sat back, and then quickly sat up again. She reached round behind her and patted the seat. ‘Right. I think this is original, and not in a good way.’
The servitor rattled back, carrying three bulbous goblets of a dull, bluish glass. Fleare took one carefully. A faint haze hung over it like steam, and it smelled chemical. ‘Jez,’ she said, ‘this is smoking.’
Jezerey inspected her own drink. ‘No, that’s not smoke,’ she said. ‘More like vapour.’
‘Fine.’ Fleare looked at Muz. ‘Can you do some kind of analysis on this?’
‘Just a minute.’ Muz floated over to her glass and blended with the haze. ‘Yeah, definitely vapour. Volatile hydrocarbons mostly, and a bit of water. Well, water with stuff in. Good thing, really; the drink’s probably better off without it.’
Fleare stared at the rising vapour for a moment. In the dim light of the booth it had a greenish tint. She shrugged. ‘Jez? I’m going to drink this now. So are you.’
‘Fair challenge. Count of three?’
They counted, and drank.
After a while, it felt good. It made the floor show, which seemed to consist of a midget quadruped using a sentient stick-insect as a lance in a jousting match with a furry six-legged mammal, look almost exciting.
After a longer while, it was soporific. Fleare must have dozed off, because the voice roused her.
‘Like it here?’
Fleare started, and looked up into Kelk’s face. She grinned.
‘Hiya. No, not really.’
‘Good, because we’re not staying long.’ He sat down and waved to a servitor.
‘Why not? And why are we here in the first place?’
‘In a minute. I want a drink.’ He peered at her goblet. ‘What was that?’
‘Chance of the House.’
‘Shit. Really?’
‘Yeah.’ Fleare prodded Jezerey, who seemed to have gone to sleep. ‘It was her idea.’
‘Not dead?’
Fleare prodded harder. ‘I don’t think so. Look; she’s breathing.’
‘Okay, I’ll have what she had.’ He flagged a servitor, and then collapsed back into a seat. It creaked loudly, and Jezerey sat up, blinking. She looked at Kelk, and then at Fleare, her eyebrows raised. Fleare shrugged.
They waited until the servitor had squeaked back with another goblet. Kelk picked it up, gave it the barest of glances, and took a long pull. Fleare stared. ‘Shit. Was your day that bad?’
‘Yes and no.’ He squinted into the goblet. ‘I won the game.’
‘Woohoo!’ Jez clapped. ‘A year’s salary, was it?’
‘Nope. It was three, in the end.’
Muz had been quiet. Now he floated up to Kelk. ‘I take it you’re unpopular?’
‘Oh yes. But I was ready for that.’ He sighed. ‘There’s something else. Remember I said about no one noticing those bodies?’
‘Yes.’ Fleare nodded. ‘You were very clear about it.’
‘Yeah. Well, it would have been fine except that one of them wasn’t a body.’
Fleare felt her mouth falling open. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Nope. The one who shot you? Whatever she swallowed didn’t kill her. Just shut her down for a couple of minutes. She must have gambled on us either throwing her over or pissing off somewhere so she could wake up in peace.’
They watched him for a moment. Then Jezerey put down her drink. ‘Some gamble.’
‘Yeah, well, she probably thought it was worth it. Guys, she wasn’t on a mission. She was on two.’
‘Say what?’ Jezerey gave him a baffled look.
‘Uh huh. To begin with they were after me, and it was about money. Simple. I’ve known about that for a while. I mean, it’s not difficult. The contract’s even on public record.’ He took a breath. ‘That’s how you can tell it was changed, see?’
Jezerey shrugged. ‘No, we don’t see. Use simple words, Kelk.’
‘Okay. Sorry. So, the contract’s out there, right? Local documents like that are public in Catastrophe; it’s still different from the Heg’ in that way, even if they’re growing together more than I’d like. But around about the time Fle landed it was withdrawn for a time. A short time, but still. Then it was re-registered with a load of new stuff added by a different legal firm, all commercial encrypted.’
Jezerey shook her head. ‘Could be coincidence.’
‘I doubt it. Fleare being shot wasn’t coincidence. It was planned.’
Fleare looked up. ‘So why? Okay, it hurt, but the doc didn’t find anything.’
Jezerey stood up. ‘Kelk, if she’s alive can we find her and just ask? Well, maybe not just ask ex
actly, but find out?’
‘Afraid not. Seems she woke up when she hit the water, swam to the edge and straight into the arms of the nearest water patrol. She’s out of reach. By now she’s probably out of breath.’ He took a long drink. ‘Sorry, Fle.’
There was a long silence. On the stage, the quadruped impaled the furry thing on the stick-insect and waved it above its head.
Muz spoke first. ‘Sooo, how many people are waiting at the door?’
Kelk counted on his fingers. ‘Well, the guys who lost the game. The guys who ran the airship, they were pissed off as well. The cops, obviously. And maybe the people behind those two women, although I guess they’ll have gone anonymous now. Er, not sure how many that adds up to. Sorry.’ He looked apologetic for a moment, then brightened up. ‘Hey. Bet you’re glad you came to find me?’
‘Delighted.’ To her astonishment Fleare found that she meant it. She stood up. ‘But we need to get out of here, Kelk. Got any plans?’
He looked up at her. ‘Well, the front door won’t work, so I guess we need to use the back door.’
Jezerey stood up too. ‘Is there one?’
‘Well, no.’ He drained the goblet and put it down. ‘That is, not yet. That’s why we’re here. So everyone collects at the front door.’
There was a soft, distant boom.
Conversation faltered. People looked around uncertainly.
Fleare was on her feet. ‘Muz?’
‘Checking. Wait a minute.’ The cloud formed a tight sphere and became still for a moment. ‘That was someone trying to get in. Medium-sized chemical explosion, against the main door. Ah, I think it’s time we went.’
There was another, much louder boom, and a stuttering rattle.
‘Which way?’ Fleare looked around. There was dust hanging in the air. People were gathering into wary groups, but no one seemed to be going anywhere.
Kelk pointed. ‘Past the stage. Let’s go.’
They pushed through the crowds and hopped up on to the stage. There were black curtains at the back. Kelk bent down, lifted the bottom of one and glanced through the gap. ‘Okay.’ He beckoned to Jezerey, who dropped to a crouch and ducked under the curtain.
Creation Machine Page 13