Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  Feeling a compulsion to run the Unit to earth, JT embarked upon his own line of enquiry. Reluctant to make a fuss, he initially let a couple of shifts go by without result before he called the management of the Transport 7 facility. The administrator was at least able to lay one mystery to rest, that of the clerk’s erstwhile colleague and his ‘paperwork pending’ pile. The colleague, it seemed, had developed a sudden infatuation with a much younger woman, feelings that were ‘inexplicably’, to the administrator at least, reciprocated. The colleague, still unnamed, had failed to turn up to work for the past eight shifts and had subsequently been dismissed.

  From there, JT began to look at the other end of the line, the Transport 24 facility.

  ‘Is this about the missing winches?’ asked the clerk before he could explain.

  ‘Winches? No, I’m afraid not. It’s about three missing vehicles, a dockable desert Unit.’ Mercifully, in this case, the clerk, a Miss Tudor, was on the ball and there was no paperwork pending, at least none that was obvious over the phone. She found no evidence that Unit Hydra had ever been at T24 or was ever due there.

  After a brief time batting possible explanations back and forth, Miss Tudor suggested she might discreetly ask a friend if T24 was home to any ‘irregulars’ at the moment. It took JT a moment to decipher her meaning. By ‘irregulars’ he felt sure she meant the Rika, an officially unacknowledged security detail – some called them mercenaries – who answered exclusively to the Privy Council. They were an open secret for many, requiring equipment just as any other field team might. It was inevitable that from time to time they came to the attention of the Hellinar and Ayon quartermasters and admin staff.

  It was only now, a full shift and a half after their last conversation, that Miss Tudor had called him back. She sounded pleased, knowing she had some information of interest to him.

  ‘I spoke to my friend,’ she said. ‘He was quite helpful.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We’ve had a Unit out in the yard. It’s been in a corner under tarps and, it would seem, under the wire.’

  ‘Interesting,’ he mused. ‘Is it still there?’

  ‘I can take a walk in that direction if you’d like me to?’

  ‘I’d like that very much, Miss Tudor.’

  They exchanged pleasantries before hanging up. JT reclined against the back support of his chair, which creaked on a dry pivot. A discoloured plastic desk fan beat the air, doing little to cool him, but he let its pulsing rhythm focus his thoughts.

  Something was wrong here. It wasn’t a strong feeling but it scratched at the edges of his consciousness. Hydra was considered lucky; all three of its vehicle components were well proven. None had been transferred to another Unit or written off. They had stayed together since production, which was unusual.

  Designed primarily as workforce transport, Hydra could be conjoined in the field, providing onsite accommodation and a workshop facility under tarps strung between the hulls. It had been at the forefront of the thermal tower construction programme dating back over two decades. After the initial construction of ten of the huge glass structures that powered Skala from way out in the desert, Hydra had been reassigned and refitted as a long-range exploration and salvage Unit. JT was pretty sure he had handled the reassignment personally.

  The Rika, if they were involved, had always made a point of keeping the quartermasters in the loop if they needed equipment. Their policy was to contain knowledge of their activities rather than be over-secretive and encourage speculation or gossip.

  Reminding himself he was speculating, JT concluded that in all likelihood the whole thing was just a clerical screw-up. Still, how did anything get the Unit out of T7 without tripping the tag? That detail continued to bother him but for now he had other work to attend to. The Unit at T24 might not be Hydra at all, and in any case the world didn’t stop because of a single misplaced Unit.

  004: Joss Ratha

  Hellinar Research, Western District, Skala City

  In the small but airy anteroom to Joss Ratha’s office, Katherine and Tyler Olson sat together in reflective silence. The office itself was visible through a glass partition, an unusual feature for such an old building. Piled to knee height along most of its length were books and files in varying states of wear. Behind these, standing resolutely on a crimson patterned rug, sat a dark, wooden desk littered with paperwork, pens and parts of a child’s geometry set. There was no evidence of a computer and scant sign of any sort of organisation to the place. While a window filled the left-hand wall, the back of the room was lined with bookcases packed tightly with all manner of junk. Mounted high on the right-hand wall was a single painting which depicted a verdant pasture, trees and, at its centre, the unmistakable shape of a horse.

  Olson had only ever seen a living horse once, while on a trip into the north of the temperate band with his parents. They had travelled off-road, following the path of a river tributary that looped around the main vein of water. Olson remembered his mother imploring her husband to shut off the engine. There, not thirty metres from them, head down and sipping at the gently flowing water, was the tallest and most handsome animal Olson had ever laid eyes on. Sometimes, when he was down, he thought about it; the deep chestnut brown of its flanks and the swishing sound of its black tail as it beat away flies. It had taken a moment to notice them, then raised its head to regard them with big doe eyes. For a moment Tyler thought the animal had looked directly into his soul. Then, as if content with what it saw, it had turned, whinnied and galloped away.

  Making as if to stretch his legs, he crossed the room to a water cooler and filled a paper cup. He fumbled in a pocket for a strip of salt tablets, which he offered to Katherine. ‘Electrolyte?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully. He popped out two tablets, dropped one into the water, handing it to Katherine, before filling a second cup for himself. He took a sip just as sure, clipped footsteps from the corridor signalled the arrival of a tall figure who wore about her an air of superiority as if it were a garment. Following in her wake was a short, tired-looking woman holding an armful of tatty files.

  Katherine rose to greet the women and, as she did so, an instant change came over her. It was as if a veil of self-assured professionalism had descended from head to toe. It always did but there were times, and this was one, where she feared the mask would finally slip and show how she saw herself; a fraud in an elevated position by virtue of pure accident.

  ‘Katherine, it’s rather early,’ Ratha snapped, ignoring Olson. ‘I suppose you had better tell me why I’m here.’ She stood rigid, resplendent in a full-length, dark-grey dress. Her chiselled features, high cheekbones and angular chin were accentuated by the sharp cut of a jacket which hugged her form tightly. The sleeves extended to her wrists, each ending in a point that partially covered the back of each hand. It was an effective, if intimidating, look which she pulled off without a trace of perspiration despite Skala’s intense heat.

  ‘I’m sorry Joss. Could we talk in your office? This is Tyler Olson. He’s with CID and investigating the matter we’re here to discuss.’

  Katherine looked at Olson, who was silhouetted against a window, the cup of water still in his hand. Against the light she could just make out a mask of polite blankness on his face and for the second time she recognised that hardness in him just beneath the surface.

  Ratha also regarded the CID man, measuring him with disdain. ‘Very well, I suppose we had better get on with it,’ she said and stridently made her way to the inner office door. Her companion, moving to follow, was dismissed with a momentary arch of a sculpted eyebrow.

  Katherine felt suddenly embarrassed for Olson and couldn’t meet his eyes. She had never been blind to Ratha’s abrupt and sometimes overbearing manner, which was familiar to her from as far back as childhood. Heidi Kane, Katherine’s mother, had been mentored by Ratha as a field biologist and the two had frequently collaborated on research projects, becoming close allies. But now, with an
outsider present, she saw Ratha from his perspective and understood why so many people considered her cold and arrogant.

  Ratha settled herself into the worn, well-kept leather chair behind her desk. She didn’t offer seating to either of her guests which, for regular visitors, was an accepted given. Not wanting to act the schoolgirl in front of the headmistress, Katherine reluctantly stated her case before being invited to do so.

  ‘It seems that HEX was stolen from the Vault. We don’t know how or why but I thought you should hear it from me as early as possible.’

  ‘Stolen? Stolen by who?’ Ratha asked, creasing her brow. This was her typical reaction to important news, not obvious shock or concern but an instant, aggressive parry.

  ‘We don’t know. The investigation is being led by a Detective O’Brien with the assistance of Mr Olson,’ Katherine gestured to Olson, who stood a step behind.

  Ratha leaned forward slightly to rest her forearms against the edge of her desk. For a brief moment she scrutinised Olson intently then apparently lost interest.

  ‘Only two of them? I thought CID had more of a budget. They’ve taken a good chunk of mine recently.’ She was being deliberately obtuse, another of her less-lovable traits.

  Olson, however, responded with surprising reassurance. ‘Detective O’Brien has a good number of agents down in the Vault and he’s sure to be appropriating as many as the relocated resources will allow, Councillor.’

  It was a good answer, as Ratha’s lack of a response acknowledged. Her manner softened and Katherine thought the message was starting to sink in.

  ‘HEX has gone, Joss, it’s as if she disappeared into thin air. How she was removed and by who is a matter for CID but there’s obviously going to be all sorts of repercussions for us to deal with.’

  Ratha huffed. ‘You’re right, there will. I suppose it’s going to be the work of the anti-AI brigade. They’re a troublesome, uneducated lot. AI,’ she complained, ‘how can you take these people seriously when they still don’t even use the right terminology? But I suppose they shouldn’t be hard to track down.’

  ‘Why would that be?’ asked Olson, not unreasonably.

  ‘Because they will make a song and dance of it, parade her. They’ll probably try to damage her. It will all be very public – that’s what the antis do, public,’ she said, with enough disdain to make Katherine flinch. ‘They write endless letters to Council representatives deriding even the existence of the Intercessors. Some are even representatives themselves now. It’s impossible to get through an open Council session without several jabs at the rest of us. Any form of disruption they can come up with they push to the limit. Ask Katherine.’

  ‘Is there anyone specific you think we should look into?’ asked Olson.

  ‘You would have to ask them.’

  ‘There is no one you think fronts their cause?’

  ‘They have an unofficial voice in the Council Chamber. A man, I forget his name,’ said Ratha dismissively. ‘But he won’t be behind this. His way of doing things is to waste as much public time as possible and he’s learned to stick to what he’s good at.’ With a sardonic smile she added, ‘He seems to know his limits.’

  Ratha’s displays of prejudice were deliberate, designed to make her audience either complicit or militant. Katherine found the tactic distasteful but chose to ignore it for now. ‘Joss, about the technical repercussions – Aya, Skala, the migration. If HEX is not recovered quickly we need to reallocate her workload between ourselves and ROOT. The timescale impact could be huge.’

  ‘I think you’re jumping ahead, Katherine. It is extremely unlikely that this situation will not be resolved by the end of the next shift.’ She paused a moment and glared at Olson. ‘Someone has to justify hogging my budget, don’t they?’

  Olson gave a flickering smile. It was a backhanded compliment but evidently he took it as a vote of confidence. For a moment there was silence, Katherine feeling she had run out of things to say. Ratha, as was her way, filled the gap and brought the discussion to its conclusion.

  ‘Thank you for letting me know, Katherine. Am I to assume, Mr Olson, that I’m not to speak of this with my team for now?’

  Olson thought a moment. ‘Only to the people you need to.’

  ‘Understood. Keep me informed.’ And, with a hand gesture to the door, she bade them farewell.

  As they left Ratha’s office, Katherine hesitated and turned back. ‘Is Kyra here?’ Ratha, who was already engrossed in something else, looked up momentarily and glowered. Katherine understood the look and acknowledged it. ‘Too early,’ she said. ‘Much too early.’

  *

  Back in the searing heat of the city, Katherine and Olson walked in the shadow of the low, sprawling buildings of the Western District with less urgency.

  ‘She’s quite a lady, that one,’ Olson grinned.

  ‘She is,’ agreed Katherine. ‘She’s complicated, but she has good hearts underneath all the abruptness. Honestly, you would be surprised at some of the things she’s done and doesn’t talk about.’

  ‘Such as?’ For a moment Katherine thought this was a rebuke but then realised that the question was sincere. She’d been feeling defensive and was trying to justify how she regarded Ratha to herself more than she was to Olson.

  ‘For example,’ she began. ‘She was once overheard shouting at some street kids to “Go back to the Projects” or something like that. Probably she swore at them. There happened to be a journalist in earshot and it made the news. “Privy Councillor picking on the poor”, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well it wasn’t a nice thing to say,’ Olson observed.

  ‘On the face of it, no, and Joss would be the first to acknowledge it was a poor choice of words. But the reality is that she was trying to protect the kids, stop them from doing anything that would attract the wrath of the law.’

  ‘You’re sure about that? That she was trying to help?’ he asked doubtfully.

  ‘I am. What wasn’t reported was that Joss personally financed several of the Projects to try to get the kids out of the slums, out of trouble and into accommodation. She gave away hundreds of thousands of links but no one knows about it. She wants to protect the poor but…’ Katherine searched for the words. ‘She’s just quite crass sometimes. There is no other word for it.’

  Olson took this at face value but remained sceptical. ‘As I said, quite a lady.’

  ‘What will you do now?’ asked Katherine, hoping to change the subject.

  ‘I want to figure out how this little magic trick was done,’ said Olson with enthusiasm. ‘I reckon Vincent will run rings around himself and maybe he’ll find something, you never know. But I think not in this case. While he’s doing all that I’d like to do a little research. What about you?’

  ‘There is bound to be an emergency session of Council before long. Get some sleep I guess, clean up a bit and wait.’

  ‘A good idea,’ Olson agreed. They paused in front of the gap between two buildings. ‘I’ll leave you to that now, if you don’t mind?’

  She gave him a warm smile, which he returned. He nodded, then started up a side street. She watched as he faded into the emerging crowds of the awakening city then set off again, towards the Eastern District.

  005: ROOT

  Eastern District, Skala City

  Wanting to avoid Ayon Research and gather her thoughts, Katherine returned to her apartment for the first time in many shifts. She’d paused momentarily at the door, seriously debating whether she wouldn’t be better off in her office after all. But, taking the plunge, she found herself unexpectedly relieved to be somewhere quiet and familiar.

  She sat on a deep sofa and gazed out through a glass wall, beyond the rooftops of the Eastern District, to arable farms and grasslands that extended out beneath distant dark clouds. The shrunken remains of Lake Eiraye looked dull, reflecting the grey hue of the leaden sky. Somewhere far in the distance, too deep into the twilight to make out, lay Aya.

  For a time sh
e sat imagining scenarios; HEX taken by the anti-AI lobby and paraded as the focal point for their righteous indignation; HEX stolen by a technology company to gain a commercial advantage. But at the end of each mental play-through she kept returning to the bizarre way in which the IDC had been taken. Even without knowing exactly how it had been done, it didn’t fit with the established methods of either group. As Ratha had hinted, the anti-AI lobby were always overt, protests or slogans scrawled across building frontages in bright paint. She knew better than to underestimate anyone, and didn’t completely reject these people as the culprits, but considered it unlikely. It didn’t fit.

  Industrial espionage, in other words greed, seemed a much more plausible explanation. The major companies lobbied hard to gain access to HEX and ROOT for the information they imparted. They also knew where the Intercessors were, information that was kept from the general public. It was easy to imagine any one of them collaborating with the city’s criminal underworld to spirit away what they viewed as a limitless source of knowledge.

  Katherine considered this at some length, before realising she hadn’t eaten since the last rest shift. Finding the only edible thing in the kitchen was dried pasta, she boiled water and added a handful of the narrow strips. Stirring the pan, her mind wandered back to the companies and the possibilities they presented. It was conceivable that they could have recruited someone inside her department, however much she abhorred the idea. There had to have been someone on the inside somewhere, and she supposed it wouldn’t be hard to woo a technician with money or the promise of a lucrative job later in life.

  But again something didn’t fit. Anyone wanting to use either ROOT or HEX would have to know how to communicate with them. Katherine herself had only discovered how to interface with ROOT after a great deal of experimenting. Her findings were not classified but they were not widely distributed either. Transfixed by the bubbling water, she thought about how often her colleagues would look into Intercessor communication. It wasn’t frequently, there had been no need since HEX’s integration and the only documentation resided solely, as far as she knew, in her office.