by EeLeen Lee
“In tribute to my late wife…”
That was the cue. There was a round of applause as she took up her starting position at the top of the stairs. She curtseyed twice, once to the guests and once to Ignazia’s stone face. Madrugal would appreciate the gesture. She took several steps back and ran at full tilt towards the light fixture.
She leapt through all the suspended hoops without disturbing them, and landed in the centre of the dance floor, her arms wrapped over her chest. She spun around, removed a hairpin and threw it at the peacock ice sculpture, shattering its head.
With chips of ice scattered all over the pearlescent floor, her audience were sufficiently mesmerised. Saurebaras unwrapped the red shawl from her shoulders. She threw it high into the air, away from the kinesphere she visualised around her body as she tapped out a steady rhythm in a spiral pattern.
Keep it simple and precise; this audience is easily impressed.
The shawl descended and she caught one end of it, making it billow around her like a red mist. She executed a grand jeté, a long leap to the edge of the dance floor, and stopped right before she stepped off it completely, her body bent back at an unnatural angle.
More applause broke out and she righted herself. Two curtseys from her again. Madrugal crossed the dance floor to kiss her hand. She accepted it graciously, then ran up the stairs again to the viewing gallery to recover.
At least that’s over with.
She sat at the window and pressed her forehead to the cool glass, and watched the changing Shineshift.
“What are you doing, Madrugal?” Saurebaras heard a man’s voice outside the gallery, heavy with exasperation. “Saurebaras… is harboured here?”
Saurebaras crept away from the window to eavesdrop further.
“The Aronts don’t know she’s here. If they find out, they… can’t exactly invade my tier. I’d have to declare a vendetta.”
A woman’s voice joined in. “Never mind them. As long as they’re distracted, it helps our plan. For the sake of their reputation, they can’t let a death in the family get in their way. They have to go forward with the North-South Canal.”
“On the day of the new monument’s unveiling,” said Madrugal. “They can’t pass up the chance for attention.”
Saurebaras reached the doorway and put a hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp of recognition. The copper bands on the arms of the man and woman confirmed they were two of the Polyteknical chief instructors, Nive and Mangolin.
“Thank your crystalline masters for their assistance. The armoured lamellar samples they sent helped with the development of my Sarisse armour.”
“Deities,” corrected Nive.
“Of course,” acquiesced Madrugal, unconvincingly.
“There will be no better day than the unveiling of the monument to carry out their will,” Nive said smugly. “A spark set off under the full light and heat of Gachala will turn into a blaze.”
She turned and went down the stairs, followed by Mangolin.
Saurebaras tried to slip back into the shadow of a support pillar. Too late.
“You’re missing a hairpin, Arodasi.”
Madrugal blocked her way, holding out the hairpin she had used to destroy the peacock ice sculpture. It was still cold to the touch.
“Welcome to my informal meeting room.” He indicated the top of the stairs. “And you’ve heard quite enough.”
New armour or not, Saurebaras could take any number of his guards. But once she got off the tier, the Aronts would be waiting for her.
“I should leave you in the shaft beneath the tier,” Madrugal mused. “It’s better ventilated than the Little Room of Forgetting, but escape is still impossible.”
Saurebaras smiled. “I don’t doubt that at all. But I’m expected to appear in front of Chatoyance on the day of unveiling the new monument. A fla-tessen show. My students will perform.”
“You’re involved in Gia Aront’s murder. How can you appear in public?”
“Officially, only Pleo Tanza is a suspect. Polyteknical’s investigation has cleared me. If I don’t appear on that day, they’ll know you made me disappear… I know them; letting me live for now is the easiest option for you.”
He inclined his head and applauded sarcastically, but still had to get in the last word before descending the stairs to rejoin his guests. “Performing in front of Chatoyance? Ignazia would be very proud of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
IF DESK SERGEANT had human ears, they would not have believed them when Dispatch put through the call on the old analogue line.
“Location?” asked Nadira. She was waiting for Dumortier to update her before he returned from DryWare.
“Canal Mouth.” Desk Sergeant shook their heads in synchronous disbelief. “Trooper Devinez has been found.”
“Is she alive?”
Desk Sergeant’s silence told Nadira otherwise.
“Don’t tell Dumortier. Please. Not yet,” Nadira said as she raced past Desk Sergeant to the stairwell leading down to the Shirpen bays.
All of them were in use, but she found a single Zenuss motorcycle in a crosshatched bay. The bike was sleek, had plenty of torque and was supremely manoeuvrable. It would have to do.
THE ZENUSS SERVED her as well as a Shirpen, zipping along the canal banks eastwards towards Canal Mouth.
How was she going to transport a body back for examination on this? Within a few blinks and saccades she had sent advanced word to the technicians in the Catacombs of Excellent Precision, telling them to stand by.
Dumortier must not know, or at least not yet. He’d be fuel to fire once he found out Trooper Devinez had also been tangled up in this web of a case.
She steered the Zenuss onto disused pavements and across parallel footpaths as she approached the hard currency block. A man clad in textured white armour strode into the entrance of the block.
Nadira parked the motorcycle and took out her shrapnel heart. She had seen what sort of employers the Dogtooths had and wasn’t above shooting a Dogtooth if one proved troublesome, but she hoped it didn’t have to come to that.
She trailed the guard into the dim lobby, noticing the blinking red light of the emergency line. The owners of the block had been savvy; an analogue line of copper wire was impervious to the myriad afflictions of communications technology these days.
The guard stopped in his tracks. Tyro Pleo Tanza, less weary than how she looked in the sparring footage, was sitting on the stairs in the main atrium, apparently waiting after making the call to Constabulary. Her expression tightened at the sight of the guard.
“Came looking for the dead rich bitch’s room,” he said, “instead I find the one who killed the rich bitch. You—or should I say, those pretty eyes of yours on a tray—will get me a promotion.”
He pulled a nasty curved long knife out of his side armour holster. Nadira took cover behind the reception counter and raised her shrapnel heart, checking its vicinity settings.
Pleo showed no sign she was afraid. She stood up and unsheathed her forceps.
“Cat has claws. Meow!” He waved the knife at her.
Nadira decided on a warning shot to break up the fight, and aimed for the floor behind the Dogtooth. But before she could pull the trigger the guard dropped his knife and grabbed his own throat.
Pleo stepped close to the guard with a serene smile.
“What’re you doing to me?” he choked out.
Nadira ran out from the reception counter. She knew what was going to happen; the sparring footage has shown her something similar.
Pleo appeared to sink deeper into herself. “Windpipe,” she told the Dogtooth by way of answer.
Terror wiped the thuggishness clean off his face, and Nadira glimpsed the fresh recruit he had once been. He did a double-take, as though he knew what was coming but couldn’t understand how Pleo was doing it. There was a faint sound of tearing cartilage and a second of warmth on Nadira’s cheeks from blood spatter, then the clank and t
huds of a heavyset body hitting the atrium floor.
“Freeze!” The shrapnel heart was now aimed at Pleo’s face.
“I called because one of your own is here.” Pleo pointed to a body that had its upper half covered in a black coat, lying next to a fallen chandelier. “Now let me go.”
“You and I know it doesn’t work like that. And you killed the Dogtooth.”
“He deserved it.”
“I’ve seen this so many times before. Drugs, illegal modifications, pirated implants. You think you’re transforming due to your new abilities, but what you’re really doing is distorting.”
“You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
“You haven’t thought this over. I don’t know what exactly has been done to you, but come with me, we can get you help.” Nadira lowered the shrapnel heart. “We have access to the best treatments. Think of your family.”
Pleo’s mouth twisted as she spoke. “My sister’s dead and my father is a living shell who’s better off dead. Mother has gone to Anium for her safety. Not that I blame her.”
“I can help you.”
“I didn’t kill Gia.” Then Pleo spoke to the air in front of Nadira. “Hold this officer for me.”
“I… believe… you.” Nadira began but felt her throat constricting, and her grip on the splinter heart wavered.
Pleo thrust a cube into her free hand. “I’ve gone over that moment in the fla-tessen piste many times. I didn’t know it at first but I tried to protect Gia.” She sighed and indicated the cube. “Here is the reason why Gia was killed.”
She turned on her heel and strode out of the hard currency block. Gasping, Nadira stumbled backwards onto the stairs as she was released. But when she turned, there was no one else in the lobby; and when she stepped outside, Pleo had vanished.
Too stunned to speak, she hailed her standby team with codes of coloured light.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SETONA SAW MARSH walk across the piazza from the station to rinse his hands in the fountain. The next Shineshift was not due for another hour, but there were already fewer people in the piazza. She listened for the sounds of Dogtooth boots on the paving stones, but all she heard for now were the automated water pumps.
“Marsh,” she called out to him. “Get in the fountain now. Hide.”
He looked around him in surprise and stared hard at the horses, as though they were talking to him.
“Look up.” She was sitting side-saddle on one of the horse sculptures, her skin the same weather-worn bronze sheen as her steed, and looking very much like part of the sculpture because she did not move. Like most modranis, she could speak and project her voice without moving her lips. “Hide now! Dogtooths are looking for us.”
“How do you know?”
“The modrani network told me.”
Marsh climbed into the water—its unexpected chill and depth made him gasp—and quickly moved behind a curtain of cascading water and under Setona’s steed.
Four white uniforms passed the fountain and streamed into Setona’s shop. Setona heard the display leopard snarl at them from the window platform. Gunshots rang out and rolled across the piazza, followed by glass breaking.
The display leopard paced back and forth across the street, blood dripping from its flank; she couldn’t tell if it was from a shot or running through the window glass. It finally collapsed on the ground, its tail flicking against the paving.
“Roll out,” she heard a Dogtooth say. “The people we want are not here.”
She waited until their footsteps died down and an armoured vehicle drove away, then climbed down from the horse and ran to the display leopard’s side. She allowed the bronze sheen to fade from her skin, returning to flesh tone.
“Good girl, you guarded well,” she said, kneeling next to the big cat.
“We have to leave,” said Marsh.
Setona plucked three jewels out of the display leopard’s spots. “These are for you: they should cover passage.”
He shook his head. “No, madame, you’re coming with me.”
Setona laughed. “An ex-modrani, a petty Cabuchoner thief and a display leopard trying to leave Chatoyance together? We’ll never make it past Khrysobe. And thanks to the new monument opening the day after tomorrow, Khrysobe will be closed. Except for VIP visitors, no ships will be allowed to dock or leave.”
“Don’t you know all sorts of people in your modrani network who can help?”
“They are resourceful, but there are limits.”
Marsh stared at her face as she thought it over.
“Madame, no,” he said. “Not the Doyen.”
“He’s powerful.”
“And so he is. But you can’t rely on him.”
Setona did not reply. She petted the leopard for a long minute, then helped it to its feet.
“Can’t stay here either,” she said.
Marsh went into the ransacked shop and came back out with a long chain and a gold harness. As he put it around the leopard’s neck, he said, “I hope you don’t mind nanoapartments.”
“Do I have a choice at this moment?” Setona asked.
“I was talking to the leopard.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
NADIRA COULD BE as objective as she liked—even calm and self-possessed. She staked her reputation on these qualities. But she saw two things that had frightened her today.
The silence inside the Catacombs of Excellent Precision was a balm to her state of mind, but only temporarily. Despite her, her mind charged forward and stumbled over the implications of Trooper Devinez’s death and reanimation.
Endless iteration was beautiful in nature and art: fractals, Fibonacci patterns, concentric rings in cross-sections of tree trunks. However, for SeForTecs—who viewed each transfusion as a dutiful iteration—perpetuity was unnecessary, a waste of time and energy.
“We honour life,” she had learnt before her first transfusion, “because we honour those who prematurely reached the end of theirs.”
Trooper Iryna Devinez was an iteration carried out without her consent. Nadira had considered leaving the examination to another senior technician under her, but the problem was, all technicians were under her. Subject one to the abominable task and the rest would lose respect for her. She had to undertake this burden alone, for the sake of all SeForTecs.
A preliminary examination would normally take her an hour. She took two. She had to ensure there were no longer any signs of life.
Nadira had passed the imitation synthamber cube to the main lab for extraction. She hoped the results would be straightforward enough to offset her sense of imbalance. She sat on a spare bench and replayed the sparring footage several times.
Footsteps running down the corridor. No personnel ran at that clip without a very good reason, but for Dumortier, anything could be a good reason.
He burst into the chamber without greeting her. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
Nadira saw his face like a stormfront, all subtlety and refinement displaced by fury. “You could have compromised the situation.”
”Don’t give me that officious bullshit.” He put his hands on his waist. “Both of us are beyond that.”
“A Dogtooth was present, and he was killed in front of me.”
That took some of the fury from his expression. He stepped closer to Nadira with concern. “There’s blood on your face.”
Nadira touched a fingertip to her cheek. “Not my blood. Pleo Tanza did it. Killed the Dogtooth.”
“How…?”
Nadira wiped the blood off her cheek and pointed at the sparring footage onscreen.
“You saw it?” he asked. “The thoughtform?”
“I saw the actions of it. Pleo Tanza told me she didn’t kill Gia. She was telling the truth. Look at the footage again: there are two people in the piste and two more presences.”
Dumortier played the footage back. He paused at the fatal moment when Gia’s neck was yanked back too far. The shadow was behind her head,
and when the head dipped, another shadow.
“Slow the frame rate, fifty times.”
The image segued from one frame into the next, but Dumortier paused it in time. Caught halfway, Pleo’s face emerged from the other shadow, elongated and blurred. The other presence had been trying to pull Gia out of the way of the incoming fan, against the action of Saurebaras’s thoughtform, which had been directing the fan at Gia.
“You saw that in Canal Mouth?”
“I told you; I saw what it did and these things should not be. And then she made it grab my throat.”
Overwhelmed, Dumortier held his hands up. “If you want to get off this case, I understand. I won’t hold it against you, and your decision won’t show up on your record.”
“No,” replied Nadria with a deep breath. “And that’s final.”
Dumortier pursed his lips and nodded. “How does someone evoke a thoughtform?”
“Trauma—induced or shared,” Nadira said. “Saurebaras and her reconditioning. With Pleo it’s her miner’s ancestry, possibly transgenerational. The exact mechanisms involved are still a mystery.”
“How do two separate people do it, within a short amount of time? Aren’t they rare?”
“My guess is, Saurebaras gave Pleo a dose of something unique, possibly self-manufactured.”
“I have results regarding the stars thrown at me in DryWare. They were made with a modified version of the biotech used for highlights.”
“And who came up with the highlights?”
“Two Polyteknical instructors, Nive and Mangolin. They have previously been cautioned by their institution for extra-curricular activities.”
Nadira killed the sparring footage onscreen. “The tech in the stars. Could they apply it to dead bodies?”
“Not unless they had outside assistance. No one in all three systems can.”
“Devinez is in the next chamber. You may view her,” Nadira added. “I’ve seen enough.”
Dumortier looked at the walls of the chamber as though his eyes could bore through them.