Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  ‘A few rotations ago the lead investigator and I interviewed the other IDC.’ What the hell, she thought, the damage is done, I might as well name him as well. ‘ROOT.’

  ‘He asserts that HEX may in fact be the perpetrator, she may have convinced a third party to remove her.’

  She hesitated, wondering how much more to impart. In that moment a chain of events began that made that decision for her. Without getting up, Urasa simply said, ‘Why?’

  ‘I can’t discuss that in a public forum,’ she answered.

  Again Urasa did not get up, a gesture which was clearly aimed at undermining her. Urasa had made no secret of his disdain for Katherine’s youth, if not her person. ‘Does it affect the investigation?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not directly, but I feel it would be unwise to discuss it in public.’

  To her surprise it was Joss Ratha who spoke next. Ratha made to stand, then seemingly thought better of it. Katherine, feeling increasingly as if she was trapped, remained resolute. ‘So if what you have to say does not directly affect the investigation and is of significance, what’s stopping you from disclosing it now?’

  Ratha knew as well as any other member of the Privy Council that to reveal the Research Departments’ lack of understanding of Intercessor technology was an invitation to public revolt. ‘The security of the Vault.’

  ‘The Vault’s security is compromised,’ interrupted Urasa with a dismissive wave of his hand. Katherine looked up at Selwyn Abbot. He wore a look that suggested he was not yet at the point where he felt justified in intervening but showed concern. The Matriarch wore a blank look.

  ‘No. I’m not discussing it here,’ Katherine said with as much assertion as she could muster.

  ‘You’re being obstructive, girl, come on,’ Urasa threw back. The use of the word ‘girl’ threatened to rile Katherine and drew a clear reaction from members of the Council. Moments later this was revealed to be a deliberate ploy for Urasa to demonstrate his reasonableness and get his audience onside.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘I apologise, I got carried away. I still don’t see why you are holding out on us, though. If you can simply tell us what’s going on I think we would all appreciate it.’

  There was a collective groan of agreement. Katherine, feeling she was faced with no choice, tried to deliver her message – without, she hoped, simply blurting it out.

  ‘Very well. ROOT asserts that HEX had persuaded or coerced somebody to remove her and take her out of Skala.’ She hesitated long enough for Urasa to push her on.

  ‘Out of Skala? Why and to where?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ she said hesitantly. ‘ROOT believes she’s heading deep into the Ayon Tundra.’

  Urasa, clearly making the most of her discomfort, fired another barb. ‘Terrific. And why does the IDC wish to go there?’

  ‘I have no idea and ROOT’s not elaborating on what he describes as a ‘hunch’. He seems pretty certain though.’

  Katherine didn’t expect anyone to take her seriously, but took some solace that this was ROOT’s interpretation of events, not her own. Urasa, clearly feeling he had scored an unexpected victory, leaned forward and gave a snort of disbelief. But it was Ratha who took to her feet. Any feeling of relief Katherine may have felt at being out of the spotlight for a moment and able to retreat to her seat was cut abruptly short.

  ‘Katherine,’ began Ratha. ‘Do you seriously expect us to believe that? HEX – you’ve identified which IDC is missing so I suppose there is little point in not continuing to refer to it by name – has convinced someone to take her out of the Vault and out of Skala?’ She jabbed a single index finger onto the age-old surface of the great table as she spoke. ‘He has a ‘hunch’ HEX is heading into Ayon? Come on.’ She stood looking at Katherine with what could only be interpreted as disappointment.

  Katherine stood. ‘That’s about it, yes. That’s what ROOT said. He suggested we prepare some sort of interception but isn’t willing to give us any information beyond that. In his own words, HEX’s return is not in his interests.’ Again she sat, giving way to Ratha.

  ‘So what’s your proposal? We go chasing after HEX on some mad mission to locate and catch her? If what we heard from the Matriarch is correct we don’t even know who has taken her. It’s absurd, the whole idea.’ This last phrase was uttered with a disdain that Katherine had never directly experienced, although she had seen it lavished on others over the decades.

  There was a long silence in which Ratha sat and brooded. Against Katherine’s every expectation it was her father who stood next. His face was inscrutable but he spoke with a firm and reasoned voice.

  ‘What Councillor Kane says is extremely far-fetched.’ Katherine’s hearts made an unexpected leap. While she had never expected any level of support from her father, his formal reference to her restored a respect Urasa had sought to tear down. ‘However, there is no reason to doubt that this is the information given to her by ROOT. Over time he has made some peculiar assertions, this seemingly the most extreme’. A murmur of assent went around the room before he continued.

  ‘But ask yourself this. For the minimal sacrifice required to prepare to chase down HEX,’ he favoured Katherine with a glance, ‘is it not worth the risk to be ready to recover her? If the window for doing so becomes smaller as a result of our own internal dithering, would we not all wish we had acted and not ignored or belittled a respected councillor for political gain?’

  Katherine was nothing short of astonished by this show of support. She wasn’t sure she quite understood the reference to political gain, but with both hearts thumping hard in her chest she didn’t much care. Kyle Devin retook his chair amid a deafening silence. He looked not at Katherine but at Urasa, who appeared reflective. Finally the Matriarch stood.

  ‘Thank you, Councillor Kane. I think you are correct and further discussion of this matter should be conducted in private. With regret, I recommend we adjourn for now.’

  Selwyn Abbot, who had resisted interruption of these increasingly heated exchanges, readily agreed and declared order and dismissal. Katherine stood briefly but took her seat again as the chamber filed out. Looking down at the floor, and lost in thought, she was momentarily startled to feel a warm and firm hand on her shoulder. She looked up into the face of her father, his features seemingly softer than she was used to.

  ‘What Urasa said, the way he addressed you, was uncalled for. You did well considering.’ She blushed, unused to receiving praise from her remaining parent. ‘More than a decade ago ROOT tried to persuade me to take him deep into Ayon, but would not elaborate. What he said to you has the ring of the same desire. At the time such an expedition was beyond us.’

  Katherine looked at him in astonishment but could only ask, ‘But you think it’s possible now?’

  ‘I think it probably is,’ he replied. ‘You’re aware of what John Orchard is building out at Special Vehicle Assembly?’

  ‘The Deep Ayon Research project?’ asked Katherine as realisation dawned on her. ‘I’ve seen it but that was some time ago. It must be close to completion by now?’

  ‘It’s designated GVX. You should go and see him at SVA, it might be an option if HEX is already crossing Ayon. And maybe you should talk to Nara, see if you can’t make use of it if the need arises.’

  ‘That would be a big ask,’ said Katherine doubtfully.

  Her father’s reply took her by surprise. He spoke quietly and very deliberately. ‘It may be on the face of it, but given the political background I think Nara will be more helpful than you’d expect.’

  Katherine looked up into his eyes and found a firm assurance in them. ‘You think what ROOT says is true?’

  ‘I think so,’ he paused. ‘Or at least I think there is something in it he’s hiding. He was very determined on it last time and, okay, I don’t know the details as you do, but the whole situation is extremely strange. Speak to Nara.’

  Katherine nodded and her father gave her a brief, warm smile in acknow
ledgement. Then he turned and she watched him leave. For the first time in a decade or more she felt a lightening of some indescribable load she was barely aware she was carrying. It was a good feeling that, if only fleetingly, dampened down the maelstrom of confusion.

  008: The Slums

  The Western Fringe, Skala City

  There was someone following him, of that JT was in no doubt. One or two shadows? It was hard to be sure in the vibrant, bustling streets of the outer edge of the Western District. The old cobbles of Siir Street were intermittently strewn with crumbling stucco that fell haphazardly from the walls of buildings. Idly he kicked at a lump and watched it crumble. Peripherally he caught a movement within the flow of people that struck him as out of place. Off to his right, a figure reacted to his presence and hastened into the cover of a nearby doorway.

  A stab of adrenaline threatened to expose his apprehension but he fought it and remained outwardly composed. The smells of human sweat, spit-roasted bovine meat and pungent spices were strong in the still, dry air. Warily he walked on, heading west in the direction of the slums. The heat was noticeably more oppressive here, although the sprawling, less orderly nature of the older buildings meant there was more shadow. Above his head, the hum and rattle of old, long-unserviced air conditioners was audible above the hubbub and bustle of Skala’s poorer residents. The street was narrow, full of people pushing past each other in both directions. Had it been empty, he judged it just wide enough to accommodate Hydra. And it was straight, as it had been thirty decades ago when an old rail track ran through here bringing humanity in from the dead city of Kul.

  For a moment he felt the presence of a second set of eyes on him. The feeling was strong enough to make him double back and duck into an alleyway festooned with patterned, brightly coloured cloth, rugs and kaftans. Old splinter-wood boxes were piled haphazardly below shopfront awnings, giving the place a confined, claustrophobic atmosphere.

  As soon as he could, he took another right to head back towards Siir Street. His sense that someone was trailing him grew fainter as he descended a set of worn steps, taking two at a time where he could. He turned, emerging from between buildings to meld back into the flow of people.

  Opening out before him, beyond what was colloquially known as Kaedyr Gate, lay the yawning expanse of the slums. He moved forward, entering endless rows of sprawling tenement shacks cobbled together from weathered corrugated tin that visibly radiated heat. The ground, defined largely by makeshift dirt lanes forking off from the single main street, was strewn with detritus. The waste of thousands was piled against buildings whose lower flanks were spattered with excrement. Flocks of gulls spiralled overhead, alighting to peck whatever carrion they could find. JT strained against the intensity of the sun and winced as he passed what he realised was the remains of an animal, probably a dog. The necrotic carcass lay discarded by the roadside, a swarm of maggots burrowing into the little dry flesh that remained.

  Shaking his head in disbelief he recalled how, a decade or two ago, prompted by the outbreak of an acute and virulent epidemic they feared might become a danger to them, a group of Skala’s more prosperous residents had made an effort to improve conditions here. Rubbish had been collected, a central open sewer had been dug and a fresh, if limited, water supply network installed. Gradually, however, the self-satisfaction of goodwill had given way to apathy as fundamentally nothing changed to lift those living on the edge of humanity out of poverty. Little by little, attentions wandered and the rubbish began to build up as the flow of purified water reduced to a trickle then dried up altogether.

  An outbreak of parasitic worms had prompted a reluctant second effort to improve sanitation and contain the infection at source. While the installation of communal composting lavatories improved the situation, a second unintended benefit was bestowed upon agriculture, which gratefully inherited a supply of cheap fertiliser. Or it should have. Instead, regular collections of human waste were carried out by Council-approved contractors who covertly formed a formidable cartel able to name its price and force the less affluent farmers into the slums themselves. With an increasing populace, the collective faeces output increased, making the cartel and the remaining farmers richer. The inevitable reaction from the slums was for the inhabitants to throw their waste upon their own doorsteps, defying the pleas of the politicians, activists and, of course, the cartel. Despite regular diplomatic and coercive interventions, the situation was still essentially unresolved.

  Picking up the sporadic imprints of Hydra’s chain-adorned tyres, JT tracked them deeper into the slums. The ground to either side of the road dropped, giving him a clear view of an endless expanse of ramshackle roofs.

  Presently, the wheel tracks became confused and JT doubled back a few metres to squat, examining the marks more carefully. He ran a finger over the furrow of imprint when, from nowhere, a figure rammed into his side and sent him sprawling onto the dirt. Momentarily stunned, he began to lift himself as a pair of strong hands were thrust under his armpits from behind. He struggled as they began to drag him toward the side of the road. A hard, ringing blow to the head was the last thing he felt before the world descended into purples, yellows and finally, a deep, comfortable blackness.

  *

  Intermittently JT was aware of being hauled up and tied by the wrists. He had come round before falling back into unconsciousness at least twice, before finally coming to. A forefinger under the chin lifted his head and he found himself looking into the strong male features of his captor. He heard heated arguing nearby but couldn’t make sense of the words. He made out three distinct voices and inferred they were trying to decide what to do with him.

  He was on his knees, bound to what must be a square-section wooden pole because its edge dug mercilessly into his back just below the shoulder blades. His legs were on fire, aching with the strain of supporting his hitherto limp body. His wrists, lashed to the pole behind him, chafed on tight, rough bindings. The muscles around his eyes strained, prying apart lids that were gummed together by mucus and sweat. The metallic taste of blood was strong in his mouth as he tried in vain to swallow. Looking down with blurred vision he could make out dark stains flecked across his T-shirt and jumpsuit. Someone had clearly given him a good going over.

  Time passed. A turn might have been a rotation, a rotation a shift or more. Trying to work both eyes open, he thought of Evelyn Tudor and wondered if she had alerted anyone to his disappearance, assuming he had been gone long enough to warrant her concern. He thought of Hydra and what in the world it might have been doing travelling through this accursed place. Sometimes he focused on the pain but found trying to mitigate it was futile. It wasn’t long before his main preoccupation became his thirst. It started as a small discomfort compared to his physical condition, but grew steadily with each passing rotation until the need for fluid was overwhelming. As he became increasingly dehydrated he succumbed to sleep, once more drifting in and out of consciousness.

  At first he wasn’t sure what brought him back. The sensation was vague, a sort of long forgotten reflex. Something damp brushed his lips and anything damp he wanted with every fibre of his being. Forcing his lower lip to split away from the upper, he felt a straw push gently between them. Without caring whether he was being offered water or poison, he drew the liquid up the tube and into his mouth. It was surprisingly cool and very, very wet. For a moment he choked weakly and lost the straw but found it offered to him again. This time he put all his mental strength into sucking in the liquid. He tasted dust and blood washing down, but that quickly gave way to the wonderful restorative taste of mineral water.

  He felt fingers reach across his forehead, gently grabbing a handful of hair. As his head lifted he summoned enough energy to open his eyes. His sight was still blurry, the dehydration causing purple shapes to dance around his peripheral vision. A male face came into view and though unfocused, JT could make out the unmistakable traces of a smile in and around the eyes. To his surprise it wasn’t menacing
, but more of a firm, satisfied look.

  The face retreated and JT’s head once again drooped forward. He felt the straw between his lips and took a long pull. Through the ringing in his ears he heard a voice, a soft gruff tone that sounded concerned.

  ‘You should drink as much of this as you can. It’s just iced water, pure for these parts. I’ll get you some food, you’ll feel better for that. You don’t need to worry, we know who you are and you’re safe now.’

  JT could barely process this through the fog of pain and dehydration but judged that assertion a matter of opinion. He drank what he could and when he was finished he felt the tethers around his wrists loosen. As they gave way he fell helplessly forward onto the dusty earth. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he groaned but was relieved to be free of his restraints.

  Beside him the man stood. ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back in a while.’

  JT watched the figure leave then closed his eyes and drifted back into sleep.

  009: Three Sisters

  Ayon Research, Eastern District, Skala City

  After the meeting with Ratha, Tyler Olson had taken to the streets, asking probing questions of the more readily accessible of his underground contacts. To his surprise he’d turned up absolutely nothing relevant to the case. He gleaned a few unsubstantiated stories about small-time opium traders, a few illegal distilleries and some minor trade in illicit fungus, but of the disappearance of one of the two most valuable assets Skala possessed, nothing.

  Now word of infighting within the Council was filtering through. News of it spread like wildfire through the city. Interpretations, elaborations and fanciful exaggerations were rife. Councillor Kane had apparently been publicly mauled by a cultural colleague on her own side of the house. Kyle Devin, her father, had seemingly come to her rescue, a situation which some found predictable but the more informed said was an extremely unusual state of affairs since the two were estranged. Devin, they said, had treated his first-born daughter as something of an outcast since establishing his new family.