Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  The Vault’s twin chambers were dark places; their occupants had no need for light. What little illumination prevailed was provided only for the benefit of guards, technicians and the visiting engineers the permanent staff referred to as ‘customers’. The same was true of the temperature, which, unlike the city above, was cool, ostensibly to keep the IDCs in their optimum operating window. In reality, as they had pointed out many times, both IDCs’ functionality was consistent throughout a wide temperature range. The same, however, could not be said of humans, whose nature it was to bend the facts to suit their inclinations.

  Closing and re-sealing the door, she had stepped around the ‘courtesy shield’, as it had, tongue in cheek, become known. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, which, with the muted hiss of cooling air fans, gave the place a soporific quality. Banks of screens, dimmed since the last shifts’ visitors had left, adorned the curved walls. Seemingly static lines of monitoring telemetry scrolled from left to right. Unlike the output of humans, with their constant pulsing hearts and variable electric signals, the IDCs’ output while dormant was simply flat, making Myra’s work tedious.

  In the centre of the chamber stood a squat podium on which, swamped in a snake’s nest of cables and umbilicals, sat the unassuming cubic form. In her mind’s eye, Myra saw unsheathed optic fibres emitting a gently diffused glow that pulsed occasionally as something, who knew what, was processed deep inside the Core.

  Without warning, the fibres had glowed with radiance and several of the monitored channels spiked as the smooth honeyed voice of ROOT’s vocal synthesiser enquired, ‘Myra, that’s you, isn’t it?’

  This was a game ROOT played with all the monitoring staff, switching off his CCTV feed and guessing who was on duty. He had become remarkably good at it.

  ‘Hi, ROOT. Yes, just checking on you.’

  ‘Can you tell me how I knew it was you?’ the Intercessor had replied in a creamy, melodious tone he occasionally put on to amuse her.

  Myra had turned to the monitors, belatedly grateful for some mental stimulation. She had said something about trying to figure it out again and looked over the telemetry, scrolling back to her time of entry.

  ‘It’s simply science. The answer is always in the data.’ This was his favourite refrain.

  She tried now to remember what she had seen in the data, wondering if it was in any way relevant to what had happened not five turns later. There had been a negative air pressure spike as the door opened, then a small change in ambient temperature. Moments later the air pressure climbed again as the door re-sealed.

  She had puzzled for a few moments, no longer than that, and made some flippant comment about ROOT being a genius, to which he responded in kind.

  ‘Sarcasm will not provide you with the answer, Myra. You need to look a little harder – the answer is right there in front of you.’

  As she left, ROOT asked her to pass on some unfathomable message to HEX that she took to be an insult. Reaching HEX’s chamber, she retracted the door locks. As before, the seal depressurised with a satisfying hiss.

  HEX’s chamber was actually the one ROOT had occupied before HEX had had to be accommodated. It was largely a mirror image of the one she had just left, only slightly smaller. Some of the systems were older and more antiquated, but Myra had never minded that. Somehow it gave the chamber a more friendly feel, a stark contrast to its somewhat prickly occupant.

  She focused now, straining to remember every move she had made. She had rounded the courtesy shield and walked habitually straight to the telemetry monitors. She knew it was petty to ignore HEX but she refused to show any deference toward the Intercessor. Unlike her counterpart, who was courteous, amusing and helpful, Myra found HEX to be abrupt and at times downright obnoxious. She seemed to harbour an unexplained resentment towards people in general and technicians in particular, although there were exceptions. Myra was not one of these.

  Again she tried to remember exactly what she had seen in the telemetry – the chamber’s pressure and temperature traces had given her the initial feeling of unease. Neither had deviated at all when the chamber opened. She recalled scrolling back in confusion, checking the time stamp. The values fluctuated very slightly but the amount was negligible. It was as if she had never entered.

  She had begun to speak before turning to HEX, but her words died in her throat. For a moment, Myra had not been able to put her finger on what was missing in the picture before her. Then a wave of panic hit her full force, a sensation that returned to her now. She remembered the cool of the room retreating as a hot nausea broke within her and her chest tightened. She felt sick and disorientated, staggering a moment before bolting for the door and the alarm beyond.

  ‘Myra?’ Hatch was watching her relive the events with obvious concern. ‘You okay? You’ve gone very pale. Do you want a doctor or some water?’

  ‘No,’ said Myra and shook her head as the memories retreated. ‘No, I’m okay, thank you.’

  Hatch looked up, her attention arrested by the sound of voices from the other side of the glass panel. People were approaching, a lot of people, fronted by two men Myra didn’t recognise. She sensed the command of shared urgency in the words and realised these were officials.

  Hatch rose to approach the window. Before she got there Myra said, ‘Connie? I think we should call Katherine Kane.’

  Hatch paused a moment and regarded her closely. Then she nodded her agreement. ‘I’ll do that as soon as I’ve dealt with these gentlemen.’

  001: Discovery

  Ayon Research Facility, Eastern District, Skala City

  Katherine Kane had slept for little more than a rotation when the blaring ring of her office telephone woke her abruptly. Fighting the urge to ignore the sound, she pushed herself up from the couch, walked to her desk and lifted the receiver.

  ‘Katherine Kane,’ she said, trying to sound more alert than she felt.

  The voice on the other end was strained, fighting to be heard over a wash of background noise.

  ‘Councillor? This is Officer Hatch in Vault security.’

  ‘Officer Hatch?’

  ‘Councillor, I’m sorry to wake you. There’s a serious problem. I think you’d better get down here.’

  ‘What sort of problem?’ asked Katherine, uncomfortable that the facilities staff knew she was sleeping at work.

  ‘It would be easier if you just came down,’ said Hatch with urgency. ‘The alarm’s been triggered and CID are onsite. There’s a lot of officers, they’re practically taking over.’

  ‘What do you mean, taking over?’ she asked pointedly.

  ‘Ivor Gethin’s on his way up to you, ma’am,’ said Hatch without further explanation. The line went dead and Katherine replaced the receiver to the sound of urgent rapping from her office door.

  ‘Okay, just a moment.’ She fought with a button midway up her blouse. Despite the air conditioning, the climate in the building became increasingly stifling shift by shift with the remorseless rise of the sun. She crossed to the door to be met by the tanned, windswept face of Gethin, the Ayon Research Facility security manager. He looked shocked.

  ‘Ivor? What is it?’ asked Katherine.

  ‘If you’ll come with me, ma’am? It would be easier just to show you.’

  ‘Okay, Ivor,’ said Katherine, sensing the underlying hesitance in Gethin’s tone. She wondered, not for the first time, if the Vault’s IDC occupants had finally driven a conscientious technician beyond breaking point.

  She followed him swiftly through the network of hallways that converged on a cylindrical elevator, known as the ‘Cannula’. In uncomfortable silence, they descended eight floors into the bowels of Ayon Research.

  Exiting the Cannula, it became immediately obvious that the situation was extremely serious. Emergency lights flashed about them; the level of noise alone was alien to this place, inducing an instinctive sense of anxiety. The security station, set behind the curved glass outer wall of the Vault�
��s entrance, brimmed with an unbridled mob of animated officials. At the centre of the crowd stood an embattled Connie Hatch, who waved them past towards two men locked in an intense exchange.

  ‘Mr Olson, Mr O’Brien,’ interrupted Gethin over the ringing of the alarm. He addressed the nearer of the two, a middle-aged man in shirtsleeves. His companion, who stepped out from behind, was a severe-looking younger man in more formal attire. ‘This is Katherine Kane. Katherine is the senior scientist at this facility. As you probably know, she is also a representative on the Privy Council.’

  The younger man jabbed a pair of spectacles up to the bridge of his nose, and spoke first. His voice was clipped, abrupt and impatient. His manner had a faint air of superiority that Katherine supposed he had developed to make up for his smaller than average stature.

  ‘I’m Vincent O’Brien, section head of the Corporate Investigations Division. We specialise in industrial espionage, fraud, illicit trade among other things.’

  ‘I’m familiar with CID,’ said Katherine, indifferent to the condescension in her raised voice.

  ‘This is my colleague, Tyler Olson,’ continued O’Brien, unfazed. ‘We are hoping you can assist our investigation.’

  ‘Investigation into what? Why are you in my Vault?’ asked Katherine, impatient for an explanation. The noise from the alarm and the whirls of dizzying light were unbearable.

  ‘No one has told you?’ asked O’Brien, brow furrowed.

  ‘Told me what?’ she asked with levity. Catching sight of a distraught-looking Myra Cena sat atop a transport box, left abandoned in the corridor, she regretted her tone.

  ‘We are investigating the disappearance of one of the two IDCs you keep at this facility,’ he said, stumbling over the abbreviation. He stared at her intently, assessing her reaction.

  ‘Disappearance? I’m not sure I understand,’ replied Katherine, fighting back confusion. If this was true the implications were monumental.

  ‘One of the ‘Intercessors’ – is that what you call them? One of them was removed sometime after the last work shift. The alarm was triggered and, according to protocol, your security officers called our department. We got here as quickly as we could.’ He consulted a notebook momentarily before continuing. ‘I believe Constance Hatch, the guard on duty, called for you to come down here Miss, or is it Mrs Kane?’

  Katherine, stunned, did not enlighten him and, after a slightly uncomfortable pause, he continued.

  ‘We’ve been told only that you have unlimited access here. What can you tell us?’

  ‘I don’t know what I can tell you,’ she said, with no idea how to respond to such a generalised question. ‘Which Core has been stolen?’

  Her indifference to his question clearly annoyed O’Brien, who cocked his head and glowered at the apparently predictable lack of official co-operation. He answered her reciprocal question in an offhand manner she suspected was deliberately contrived.

  ‘The one on the right,’ he said, and flicked his head in that direction.

  ‘You mean HEX?’

  O’Brien glanced back, deferring to Myra Cena. Myra looked up momentarily, her wide eyes connecting with Katherine’s. She gave a small nod.

  ‘HEX,’ repeated O’Brien.

  In that moment the alarm subsided and the emergency lights ceased their flashing, the sensory onslaught giving way to a degree of calm. Katherine regarded the other man, Olson, and caught the briefest twitch of a smile behind a neatly trimmed beard. For a moment he held Katherine in the warmth of his gaze; only very faintly did she recognise a hardness behind that engaging stare, an edge that belied its captivating radiance. When he spoke, his voice was soft and melodious, compared with his colleague’s staccato bursts of speech.

  ‘We were hoping maybe you could fill in a few details for us, that’s all. You have privileges?’ he suggested. ‘Access to both IDCs at any time, work or rest shifts, is that correct?’ Unlike his colleague, he sounded comfortable with the Vault’s technical jargon.

  Katherine took a breath and chose her words carefully.

  ‘I do have unlimited access to the Vault, that’s true,’ she said firmly. ‘But I’m not the only person with that level of clearance. Most of the technicians, scientists and engineers can come and go as they please. The more senior personnel have access to the data and communication with both IDCs. Then there are the customers, outside technology companies, other Council departments, who can buy blocks of the Intercessors’ time to get input on their projects. But you’re right, only a few of us get access to everything.’

  ‘How many would that be?’ asked Olson.

  ‘It depends. Perhaps eight in total,’ she said, still fighting to maintain her composure amid the tumult of internal confusion. ‘Some of the Privy Council, Joss Ratha for example, have had unlimited access for a decade or more. John Orchard, one of the senior engineers, has unlimited access for now, but I imagine that will be rescinded once he’s finished the project he’s working on.’

  ‘And who decides who gets access to what? How does that work?’

  ‘It’s down to a steering committee to allocate access. They would be in a better position to tell you who’s unrestricted at the moment. Councillor Ratha would be able to give you a clear answer, she chairs the group.’

  ‘And you’re not a part of it?’ Olson posed this as part question, part statement.

  ‘No,’ replied Katherine with a defiance she hoped masked her disappointment.

  A moment passed as O’Brien made a record in his notebook. The pause, brief as it was, gave Katherine time to gather her thoughts and take back control of the exchange.

  ‘And you’re sure it’s HEX that’s been taken?’ she asked.

  ‘Does it make a difference?’ asked O’Brien, not looking up.

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Katherine, with a trace of irritation.

  ‘But you have a preference? You regard the other one as yours?’

  Katherine narrowed her eyes. The question suggested the CID man had a much better knowledge of her than his manner had implied. If she was honest, she did harbour possessive feelings towards ROOT and it was by no means inconceivable that other people guessed this. But how or why CID would know, she wasn’t sure.

  ‘He’s not mine,’ she stated with as much assertion as she could muster. ‘Neither Core belongs to anyone.’

  ‘But you discovered ROOT,’ he said, deliberately pulling a wolfish smile.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, shaking her head defensively. ‘By accident.’ She looked up to meet eyes that feigned disbelief.

  ‘Accident? You discovered something that important by accident?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling the need to explain herself, not for the first time. ‘I was fifteen, tagging along on a Hellinar expedition with my father.’ She faltered, feeling a need to justify a child being taken so deep into the desert. ‘It was shortly after my mother died. He was exploring a ruined city called Mayak. I was on a ridge and fell into some sort of tomb, and there was ROOT. We didn’t know he was important, we thought he was just an artefact of some sort. It wasn’t until later that we figured out we could communicate with him.’

  Her own natural defensiveness on the subject irritated her. Olson, however, looked captivated by the recollection and there was something else in his stare, something she found undefinable as he posed the next question.

  ‘And the other Intercessor, the one that’s gone missing? Another accidental find?’

  ‘No,’ said Katherine, with a mix of admiration and regret. ‘HEX was found in quite a different way.’

  ‘By Kyra Devin,’ Olson stated, making it immediately clear to Katherine that, although O’Brien might be senior in rank, it was Olson who had a better grasp of the background.

  ‘That’s right. Kyra figured there could be more than one Intercessor near Mayak and went back. She found HEX on her own initiative and despite her disability.’

  ‘And you respect that,’ said Olson, in soft confirmation. ‘Yo
u’re related, if I’m not mistaken?’

  ‘She’s my half-sister,’ said Katherine, trying to stifle the resentment she felt towards her father’s second wife, the socialite Martha Devin. She had to remind herself that these feelings did not extend to the couple’s daughters, Kyra and Megan. This was no time to dwell on the past, so she continued, cautious concern wavering in her voice. ‘You haven’t explained how HEX was stolen. With the security down here, she can’t have just been carried out the door.’

  ‘That’s the thing,’ said O’Brien, a peculiar smile playing on his face. ‘We have no idea. There is nothing in the CCTV, and Miss Cena here says the monitoring systems are behaving like your IDC is still in place. None of it makes much sense at the moment.’

  ‘That can’t be,’ she said doubtfully. ‘The cameras must have seen something. HEX might be smaller than ROOT, but she’s too heavy to have simply been carried out. Could she have been removed in a transport case?’

  ‘We’ve checked,’ said O’Brien firmly. ‘Nothing has gone in or out of the Vault through the last two shifts except the technicians and a few higher-ranking personnel. We’re looking again, but no boxes, no equipment, nothing big enough to conceal an object over twenty centimetres square. But the IDC’s gone, come see for yourself.’

  O’Brien gestured for Katherine to accompany him. Olson followed behind them, gently guiding Myra to her feet as he did so. As they reached the intersection, Katherine instinctively glanced to her left, seeing the sealed door behind which ROOT would be sitting like a forgotten child. For a moment she felt sorry for him, but quickly recognised that as he had no emotions, she was being self-indulgent.

  As they walked, Katherine frowned. ‘You said the monitoring telemetry is still running? That’s hard to believe.’

  ‘Miss Cena?’ O’Brien deferred to the technician.